


Burns Like a Gin (And I Like It)

by Ennaess



Series: Might Ignite It [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Breathplay, Cock Warming, Dunking, Edging, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, First Time Bottoming, Flirting, M/M, Mild sadism, Orgasm Denial, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Sex Toys, Sexual Tension, Sexy Banter, Teasing, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, sexual games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 50,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennaess/pseuds/Ennaess
Summary: (Direct sequel to Just Add Some Friction)Last night, while Jaskier was under the influence of a sex potion, Geralt let slip several secrets.The first: that he wanted to bed Jaskier.The second: that he had fantasies of taking the bard rough and against his will.The third?That he has never offered to bottom for anyone before...but would do it for Jaskier in a heartbeat, if only the bard would ask.Now, Jaskier wants Geralt's first time to be glorious—which means Jaskier needs time to heal and prepare.  He can resist the temptation to ask until everything is perfect.  He can.  He can do it.  Yep.  Because self-control has always been high on his list of virtues...What a terrible time to discover that Geralt is such a *fucking tease.*
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Might Ignite It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678432
Comments: 1123
Kudos: 2165
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier was soaring. Absolutely delirious with giddiness--despite the ache in his muscles, the pinch of his cuts, and the stiffness of his joints.

He'd been quite roughly and _thoroughly_ fucked out of his mind the night before by the most magnificent creature in the entire world, and there was no amount of bodily discomfort that could dampen his mood.

The witcher and the bard strode side-by-side down the dusty road, Roach steadfastly clopping along, tugged forward by Geralt's lead. As the three of them stepped closer and closer to civilization, Geralt kept sneaking glimpses of Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, as though to reassure himself the bard was really there, really still with him, really grinning like a sexed-up idiot. 

"I'm not going to disappear into thin air, you know," Jaskier said, even though it sent a little thrill through him every time he caught Geralt peeking.

Geralt smiled faintly. "Stranger things," he mumbled.

It had been hours since they'd left their hurriedly constructed camp in the hills. But that was no time at all, really. The events of the night before--the potion, the resistance, the desperation, the sweat and sex and declarations of affection--were all still fresh in their minds. 

To Jaskier, this thing between them felt somehow both delicately-new and comfortably-old. An additional bright, shining facet on the jewel that was their relationship.

_Oh, yeah, that's good--shining jewel_ , Jaskier thought, tip of his tongue darting between his lips. He hummed a few bars, juggling the words _jewel, amber, gem, onyx_ , and _eyes_ in his mind. He shifted his lute from his back to his hands, suppressing a slight grimace as the strap slid over the bruises on his shoulder--he hadn't even been able to button his purple doublet, what with the way it pulled too taut at his bandages--and began strumming. 

"That sounds...new," Geralt said carefully. "You're not--?" He threw him a sharp look.

"Not what?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"What, writing about last night? Please, Geralt, I know it doesn't seem like it at times, but I do have at least _one_ ounce of discretion in my possession."

"It's not about me?"

" _Of course_ it's about you. A good three-fourths of my songs are about you, that's--" He tamped down on the strings, halting their vibrations. "Does it concern you?" he asked, trying not to sound offended. "That people might find out? About us?"

"No," Geralt said lightly. "Write whatever you want. In fact, I wouldn't mind hearing a random troubadour spout off a limerick about my _very skilled dick_ the next time I'm in Oxenfurt."

Jaskier froze in his tracks. "Really?" he asked hopefully.

Geralt rounded on him. "No, not _really_. I don't care who knows I've finally bedded you, but I get enough glares walking into taverns and town squares, I don't need leers as well."

"You already get leers," Jaskier informed him, trying not to smile too broadly at Geralt's use of _finally_. "I don't think anyone has told you in the last, oh, hour or so, but you aren't exactly _difficult_ to look at. And, for your information, I was writing about your _eyes_." Jaskier started plucking again. "Though I suppose I could sneak in a line about the one-eye. And, really, who would be any the wise--?"

" _Jaskier_."

"I'm teasing you, Geralt. I'll keep your _very skilled dick_ all to myself, don't worry."

Another hour passed before Geralt spotted rooftops in the distance. It looked to be a proper, good-sized town rather than a little village, thank the gods. The type of place to have a real inn with real baths.

Jaskier let out a deep sigh of relief. Even as delighted with the world as he currently was, he'd been putting on a brave face as they walked, biting back his usual level of complaining so as to spare Geralt's feelings. The witcher clearly harbored plenty of guilt about Jaskier's cuts and bruises, and the bard wouldn't add to those anxieties if he could help it. For Geralt's peace of mind, yes, but also lest Geralt be afraid to come at him that roughly _again_.

Jaskier's body was protesting now, but in the moment it had all been excruciatingly sublime. He wasn't sure which "abuses" he'd enjoyed more--those delivered by Geralt's hands, his mouth, or his cock.

The way the witcher had tasted him, _bitten_ him.

The way he'd opened Jaskier on his thick fingers, preparing him to take the full length of him.

The way he'd demanded Jaskier fuck himself, and then, after--the way he'd shoved Jaskier off his lap, forcing the bard down, onto his knees, face plastered to the bedroll, arse--

Jaskier suppressed a shiver.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to compose a _little_ ode to Geralt's dick. Maybe Geralt wouldn't mind if Jaskier promised to only ever perform it while on his hands and knees for an audience of one.

_Mmm_ , or, maybe while _Geralt_ was the one on his hands and knees...

Jaskier's cock twitched.

_Fuck_.

To sing to Geralt about the size of his own fucking dick while it bobbed between his legs as Jaskier thrust--

He bit his lip, held back a whimper.

Jaskier still couldn't quite believe Geralt had offered himself. Offered to let Jaskier _take_ him. An offer he'd never made anyone before. 

All Jaskier had to do was ask, and he could have him.

And the way Geralt had phrased it...it made it sound like the minute Jaskier asked, Geralt would want him right then and there.

A little zing of pleasure snaked its way through Jaskier's groin. His cock continued to swell.

_Ngh_ , _fuuuuuck_.

With a sharp intake of breath, he glanced quickly to the side to see if Geralt had noticed his sudden...predicament.

The witcher made no indication he had.

Feeling as though it was the gentlemanly thing to do, Jaskier fell a few steps behind, intending to discretely adjust the fattening cock in his pants.

Of course, this quite unintentionally put Geralt's backside directly within his field of view. 

The muscles were taut and thick, the leather stretched enticingly. 

Jaskier imagined yanking those trousers down this instant, falling to his knees behind Geralt to mouth at one luscious curve, feeling the meat of it in his palm, letting his tongue glide over the suppleness of--

Jaskier cleared his throat, hoping to disguise the needy sound that suddenly burst from his chest.

But Geralt wasn't fooled.

"I can _smell_ you," he reminded Jaskier without looking back. "Are you really getting hard again so soon?"

"So what if I am? You're going to have to get used to the scent of my arousal from now on, witcher."

"As though I haven't been familiar with it for years," Geralt said. "It's part of your basic scent profile. It's more unusual when I don't smell it at all."

"And here I thought I'd been a master of deception with regards to my attraction to you, when you knew the whole--"

"I never realized it was because of me," Geralt interrupted, glancing at him over his shoulder.

Jaskier's cheeks grew warm. "Oh. So, what? You thought I was just _fundamentally_ horny _all the time_?"

Geralt gave a non-committal tilt of the head.

Jaskier scoffed. "I may be easy, but I'm not _that_...alright, well, maybe I am."

"Do you think you can keep your cock under control until we find ourselves, at the very least, somewhere with four walls and a roof?" 

"I can _indeed_ ," he said, skipping into step next to Geralt once again. "And while we're at it, preferably someplace with a sturdy bolt on the door and an innkeeper who's hard-of-hearing. What with all the screaming and begging sure to come."

"Screaming? With your voice already so strained? You'd hardly be able to play through one set as it is, and we might need the coin."

"I didn't say _I'd_ be the one screaming."

Geralt shot Jaskier a look, eyebrows raised--a look which quickly dissolved into awkward sheepishness when Jaskier boldly held his gaze. Geralt hurriedly glanced away.

Oh, oh- _ho-ho_ , Jaskier could get used to catching Geralt off guard like that. Embarrassment was a particularly good look on him.

"Will you?" Jaskier asked innocently. "Scream for me?"

"Fuck off."

Jaskier grinned all the wider.

A few minutes later, Geralt led Roach off to the side of the road. "We need to stop a moment, before we get too close to town," he said, digging into the saddle bags. He came out with the remaining flasks containing the colorless, scentless, accursed-yet-wonderful sex potion. "Still need to dispose of these."

"Can't we simply dump them out?"

"Don't want to risk it contaminating a water source."

"Burn them?" Jaskier asked.

Geralt shook his head. "No. It'll create fumes. That's usually how it's administered--don't you remember the fog in the manor? Dip something like sage or pine twigs into this, let it dry, light it up, and there you have it: instant orgy. The effects are much milder, and more controllable, when it's in a gaseous state. Whoever brewed it can assign start-words and end-words to the magic."

"So what you're saying is only a complete moron would ingest a vial of this stuff directly."

Geralt gave him a head tilt and an amused smile. "Your words, bard, not mine."

"So, what do we do with it, then?"

"Neutralize it. Adding the right ingredients will turn it into harmless crystal, and then we can bury it."

"If it's harmless, why does it need burying?"

"Because a skilled mage could still recoup the components." 

"Ah. Well, how can I--?"

"Just...stand back. You'll forgive me if I don't want you near the stuff."

"I have half a mind to down a bottle once again just to spite your mother-henning."

"I wouldn't put it past you." He pointed to the other side of the road. "Go over there and compose."

"So _demanding_."

But he did as he was told, wandering a fair distance away, whistling and mumbling to himself, watching Geralt as he worked.

Geralt started scrounging for something in the short shrubs near the roadside--likely he'd finally spotted an ingredient for the neutralization he'd been missing. 

Which meant he kept _bending over_. _Stretching_. _Twisting_.

Every time Geralt reached just a little too far, Jaskier's fingers stumbled on the lute strings.

He couldn't help but stare. Now that he'd practically been _promised_ Geralt's lovely bottom, it felt like a present he couldn't wait to unwrap.

To feel the tight heat of him...

Jaskier's erection continued to grow, and he decided he didn't want to do a damn thing to stop it. One would think the potion should have worn his poor prick right out, but apparently Geralt himself was a more effective aphrodisiac than anything the sorceress could have kept in her palace of questionable delights.

He tracked Geralt's arse openly, intently, fingers caressing the neck of his lute just a tad obscenely.

Jaskier wanted the witcher writhing on his cock _right now_. 

_Would_ he writhe? Was he a writher?

Or would he be stoic? Would he grit his teeth and moan in the back of his throat and hold himself steady?

Or had Jaskier's tease about Geralt screaming hit closest to home?

Jaskier didn't know--even after all the things he'd discovered about how Geralt moved and sounded and tasted during sex, he couldn't say for certain what he'd be like riding a cock.

He didn't know.

_No one_ knew.

And only Jaskier could find out.

The neutralization process was fairly quick once Geralt had all of the ingredients in order. The crystals formed right in the vials. But then, to bury the stuff, Geralt got down on _all_ _fours_ \--arse angled squarely at Jaskier, legs spread just wide enough to be suggestive. If the bard hadn't known how seriously the witcher took his work, he would have sworn Geralt was torturing him on purpose.

Geralt rocked forwards, then backwards on his knees as he dug deep. His armor might have prevented Jaskier from getting a good look at the way his back and shoulders were flexing, but his thighs, that _arse_ \--

"Gods, do you have any idea how incredible you look like that?" he called from across the road.

"Is this what life with you is now?" Geralt called back. "Ceaseless flirting?"

"Is that a complaint?" he asked cheekily.

Geralt sat back on his haunches, shook the dirt from his hands, then looked over his shoulder pointedly--his expression a cross between exasperation and amusement.

He didn't stand. He held his position, the soles of his boots framing his arse _just so_.

And he held Jaskier's gaze. The haughty set of his jaw looked like a dare.

He _knew_ what he was doing. The bastard _knew_.

He _was_ torturing Jaskier on purpose.

The _insolence_. 

Jaskier felt something stir in him, then. A strange, delicious feeling. Not just his usual cockiness or his typical flirtatiousness.

No, this was something akin to what had awoken in him last night. When he'd realized he had power over Geralt--that he could affect him. That stoic, careful, calculated Geralt of Rivia could become none of those things under Jaskier's attention.

Jaskier slid his lute onto his back, then slowly strode across the road--eyes focused, hungry. 

Geralt watched him come without moving, the amusement slipping away, the exasperation slowly turning into anticipation. His lips parted as Jaskier approached.

The bard came to stand over the witcher, looking down at him with a slight tilt of the head and one hand propped on his hip. Geralt peered up at him, waiting.

"You accuse me of ceaseless flirting, yet here you are putting on a display."

"Don't know what you're talking about. I was just getting rid of--"

Jaskier reached out to thumb at Geralt's bottom lip--interrupting him--savoring the way Geralt's hot breath puffed out over his wrist.

_Gods_. The fact that he could touch him this way, that he was _allowed_ to, _invited_ to--

Slowly, he slid the point of his thumb _between_ his lips. Geralt closed his eyes, let a little shiver run through his body, the tip of his tongue flicking out to grace the digit in his mouth, if only for an instant.

Jaskier pulled his thumb back again, to pet over the wet seam of Geralt's lips, tracing the bow of them, watching the way the soft skin caught on his finger.

He could get so lost in these lips...

His gaze flicked up to Geralt's, held steady when he saw the heat in those golden eyes.

"Ask me," Geralt whispered against the pad of his thumb.

Jaskier's breath hitched, his chest tightened. 

Geralt swallowed thickly. "I know what you want, Jaskier. You can have it. All you have to do is ask for it."

"You know I-- _we_ \--can't," he breathed. "Not yet."

For all their banter, they both knew they couldn’t have each other this day. And maybe not the next. Geralt had fucked Jaskier so thoroughly that the witcher wouldn't dare press himself onto--or _into_ \--Jaskier until he'd recovered. Likewise, Jaskier was determined to make Geralt's first time taking cock absolutely magnificent, and he needed every bit of himself to be in top working-order if he was to pleasure Geralt the way he wanted to pleasure him.

"We can't," he repeated.

Geralt's left hand came up to graze along the inseam of Jaskier's purple trousers. "I think your cock disagrees with you," he rumbled.

As though in confirmation, it _twitched_.

Jaskier steeled himself. _Traitorous fucking_ \--

"I swear to gods your first time will not be on the side of some filthy road," he said, his own voice far more gravely than he was used to--scream-roughened from the night before, just as Geralt had implied. "I won't take you just yet. But you're making it very difficult for me to stick to my convictions." 

The backs of Geralt's knuckles brushed up the underside of Jaskier's clothed cock.

Jaskier slid his thumb away and gripped Geralt's chin, his voice growing breathy, needy, _demanding_. "Why must you tease me? You know I want to take you right, make it good for you. You know I need time to heal before I can do that. And time to prepare you--which we _do not have_ out in the open like this."

Out in the open...

Jaskier's eyelashes fluttered as he suddenly imagined sinking into Geralt right in the middle of the fucking road, fully exposed, where anyone could see them.

_Yes yes yes, gods, yes_.

His dick throbbed. 

He swallowed thickly.

"Ask," Geralt hissed.

Geralt _knew_ he wouldn't. The whoreson was sitting here teasing him, pushing him, while they both fully understood the timing was all wrong. Both knew it wasn't a good idea. Both knew--

Gritting his teeth, Jaskier tightened his hold on Geralt's chin, looked him squarely in the eye. His demanding voice now edged into a plea. "Why tempt me to take you too soon? I can't have you, why tease me?"

A little, sinister smile quirked the corner of Geralt's mouth. The witcher grabbed Jaskier's outstretched wrist, pulled him closer, made him bend slightly. His other hand never ceased its lazy trail up and down the line of Jaskier's cock.

"Do you hear it?" Geralt asked darkly, slowly, eyes half lidded. "The _ache_ in your voice? _That's_ why _. That's_ what I want. That _pang_. I want you _so_ hard for me--"

He palmed Jaskier all the firmer, making the bard's breath hitch. 

"--Want you frustrated because you're unable to take me--"

He twisted Jaskier's wrist in his grip, lightly bit the inside of his palm.

"--I want you to want me so much it _hurts you_."

He took two of Jaskier's long fingers between his teeth, closing his lips, _sucking_. Sucking as he slid his hand down to fondle Jaskier's balls.

Jaskier groaned--deep, filthy. 

Geralt had confessed last night that he found Jaskier's pain enticing.

Jaskier had thought he'd simply meant the type of pain achieved through fists and fear. 

But the very idea that "pain" could mean _this_ too...

With a moan, he dropped down, threading one leg between Geralt's as he grabbed the witcher's face in both hands, falling into an open-mouthed kiss before his knees even hit the dirt.

Geralt's hands immediately found Jaskier's waist, pulled him close.

"You wanted me so badly last night," Geralt breathed between kisses. " _Yearned_ for me. And I hardly let myself enjoy your yearning, thinking it wasn't real. But I need it now." His voice became a growl, " _I need it_."

"I want you," Jaskier reassured him, voice breathy. " _IwantyouIwantyouIwantyou_."

Gods, he did. 

So _fucking_ much.

Jaskier's recovery time could have been spent mundane and uneventful. Leave Geralt to make a game of it. A sexy, sexy game.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you are all on board with Geralt "I want nothing" of Rivia--Geralt "and the last thing I want is someone needing me" not-really-even-*from*-fucking-Rivia--openly wanting Jaskier to want him. 
> 
> I'm addicted to your comments. <3

"Finish--" Jaskier tried to speak, but Geralt kept capturing his mouth, wouldn't let him get more than a syllable or two out before kissing him again. "Finish-- _mph_ \--burying-- _mmm_ \--the potions. So that I-- _ah_ \--can get you-- _mmm_ \--alone. Where we can't be interrupted. Four w-wall-- _mph_ \-- _four walls_ , Geralt."

Geralt _hmm_ ed in the back of his throat, nodded. He released Jaskier with a final parting grope of his dick.

Together, they finished disposing of the potions quickly, and were back on the road in no time.

They passed through the outskirts of town at noon, striding into its center twenty minutes later. Jaskier kept his eyes peeled for a place to stay--someplace on the flea-less end of affordable. What he _really_ wanted was an invitation to a damn manor house--one preferably without a djinn-stealing sorceress--but knew they'd have to settle for renting a room. 

A beautiful building caught his eye. Its gables swooped delicately, the windows were washed, there wasn't a single hole in the exterior, and some kind of sweet yellow flower filled the boxes that framed the door.

The sign out front declared it the Dandelion Inn.

There was a woman in his youth who used to call all the children around her "my dandelions." Jaskier included.

Felt like fate.

But this was clearly the sort of place that catered to nobility. There was no way they could afford it.

He quietly pouted to himself as they walked by. _That_ would have been the kind of place in which to properly bed Geralt. Where they could light candles solely for the mood, not to chase away some horrid smell. Where they could spend all day in their room and not worry about anyone questioning what exactly they were doing holed away together.

It would have been perfect.

Alas.

But then he caught a glimpse of someone through the beveled windows and perked.

_I can't believe it. What luck!_

"Let's go in here."

Geralt glanced at the inn. "We don't have the coin for--"

But Jaskier was already halfway through the door. Geralt had no choice but to follow.

The old woman behind the bar looked up from a ledger. "Master Julian!" she said warmly, smiling broadly--then frowning a little when she caught his sorry state.

"Dear lady, I thought it was you."

"What you doin' all the way out 'ere?"

"Traveling with my--ah, Geralt." The witcher stayed near the front door, clearly expecting to leave again soon. Jaskier gestured at him, then at the woman. "Geralt, this is Madame Kowalczyk."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said skeptically.

She nodded at him. "Is he that there witcher they say you been writing all those songs about?"

"You haven't heard them?"

"Oh, I 'eard em. Just hard to imagine my Julian wrote em, is all."

Geralt raised an eyebrow at _my_ Julian.

"Boy and I go way back," she said, noting Geralt's expression.

"She was the head chef at my family's estate when I was but a wee little lad," Jaskier explained. "Say, I don't suppose there's any way such a fine establishment as this has any rooms open for the likes of two weary souls such as ourselves?"

"We've got one open, best in the house."

"Sounds lovely. We'll take it." He pretended to reach for his purse. "Oh, is there, by chance, perhaps a...friends and family discount?"

She tightened her lips. "Witcherin' and bardin' don't pay all that well, I'm guessin'?" She eyed the two of them more closely, gaze clearly catching on Jaskier's visible injuries.

Jaskier shook his head, deciding not to address her inquisitive stare. Instead, he gave her his very best puppy-dog eyes. They used to work so well when he asked her to slip him a fruit tart before supper.

"You're lucky you're still cute, little dandelion," she said, wagging a finger at him. "And that I own the place, you louse. What if I send the bill to your father, ay?"

Jaskier's hopes sank. "Eh, no. Better not. It's quite alright, my love, we'll take our rather-empty purses elsewhere. It was a joy seeing you again."

Geralt opened the door.

"Nonsense, hold on," she said quickly. "How many nights you be needing? Room's going to sit empty otherwise, rarely get anyone through who can afford it. Play those songs about your friend here in the evenings, and we'll count the crowd as payment for the room, and your tips can go towards the fee for the bath water and salts and all."

"Stink that badly, do we?"

"Boy, there's a _copper_ tub in the room. If you're still the same Julian I remember, you'd be back down here pouting about it being empty in ten minutes' time."

"And Roach?" Geralt prompted.

"Oh right. We've sort of got a horse as well."

She sighed. "Fine. Your witcher can wash dishes, can't he? We'll call it even for stabling the horses."

"Just the one horse," Jaskier corrected.

She gave him an odd look. Glanced between the two of them again. "What, did you lose the other in the fight with em bandits which musta given you that bruised cheek and ruddy throat? _That_ really why your pockets are so empty?"

Clearly she thought she had them. Wanted them to confess to some hardship on the road.

Jaskier's hand instinctually came up to clutch at his neck, to cover over the marks Geralt's strong fingers had left. "Would you believe these are from an overly enthusiastic lover?" he asked.

Geralt made a sharp choking sound.

Jaskier didn't look at him.

"Fine, don't tell me what 'appened," Madame Kowalczyk said dismissively. "Tie the horse out front, bring your things. I'll show you the room, then send up some grub and fill the tub for ya."

#

"Overly enthusiastic lover?" Geralt asked as soon as the tub was filled and door bolted.

"You can't say I'm not an honest man."

"What happened to that ounce of discretion?"

"I used it all up not writing about your cock."

The room was by far the most lavish they'd ever rented. A suite, really, with beautifully carved wooden partitions between the lounging area--containing a plush red velvet chair and chaise to match--and the bedroom proper, which had a wide, downy mattress laid atop a four-poster frame. The copper tub sat across from the foot of the bed, half hidden behind an ornate folding screen.

Everything smelled of jasmine.

Geralt quickly divested of his armor, leaving him in just a black shirt, his leather pants and boots. Jaskier moved to sit on the chaise, but his arse instantly protested and he shot back up again. Luckily Geralt's back was turned. Jaskier opted for leaning casually beside the door instead.

A bowl of fruit, a loaf of bread, a selection of cured meats, and a jug of water had been left out on a small table. Geralt poured a cup of water and brought it to Jaskier without being asked, watching intently as Jaskier drank. As soon as Jaskier lowered the cup, Geralt heatedly kissed the wetness from his lips.

"Ask me, _Dandelion_ ," he said lightly, a smile in his voice.

"Not yet, _horse's arse_ ," Jaskier returned with amusement. "Get in the tub," he ordered good-naturedly.

"You first."

"How about together?"

"Hmm." Geralt started shucking off his boots, tossing them into a far corner.

As equally excited for the prospect of warm water on his sore muscles as he was to get Geralt naked again, Jaskier tugged off his boots as well, but placed them neatly beside the door before scurrying toward the steaming tub. He eyed their inventory--plenty of soaps, salts, and oils--then reached for his jacket.

But one wrong tug at his doublet had him hissing. A bandage caught, pulled at his sensitive skin.

Geralt quickly came up behind him. "Here, let me help." 

Jaskier wasn't about to bat him away.

Strong hands delicately peeled the doublet away from his shoulders, sliding the brocade slowly down his arms. As Geralt dropped the jacket to the floor, Jaskier pulled his linen undershirt out from the hem of his trousers. When he started to lift it up, Geralt's hands came back, covered his. 

"I said, _let me_ ," Geralt whispered.

Jaskier nodded, allowed Geralt to brush his hands to the side. 

One rough palm bunched the hem, the other slid beneath, splaying over Jaskier's stomach--only for an instant--before dragging around to the side to twist in the fabric instead.

Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath when he realized it was a motion he recognized. Geralt had done that _before_. They'd been on a wyvern hunt, and Jaskier had been the unlucky recipient of a swipe of the creature's barbed tail. It sliced him in the back as he ran for cover, and when the fight was over, Geralt had helped him pull off his clothes to examine the wound. It had been barely more than a scratch, with the slightest hint of blood. Jaskier's tunic had taken the brunt of the slash.

At the time, he'd thought the brush of Geralt's hand across his stomach an accident--incidental to his rushing. 

But now...

How many little touches had they both stolen over the years? 

Jaskier raised his arms, let Geralt pull the shirt over his head. A surprised gasp met his ears a moment later. 

"What?"

When Geralt didn't say anything, Jaskier made to turn around, but a firm hand between his shoulder blades stopped him, kept him facing the tub.

"Geralt?"

Geralt's touch became less steady, his palm pulling back until only his fingertips lay against Jaskier's skin. Slowly, feather-light, they slid down his spine. Then to the side, then lower still, over his waist, back up again.

It took Jaskier a moment to realize Geralt was tracing patterns. He glanced down at his torso, saw how dark his bruises had gone, how red the skin was around the scrapes.

He didn't have a witcher's ability to heal quickly. Geralt had been thorough and attentive with his patching, but there was no escaping the angry look of Jaskier's wounds, no matter how superficial they were.

Geralt let out a shaky breath. "I did this to you," he said quietly, guilt making his voice thick.

"I asked you to," Jaskier reminded him, voice just as soft.

"I shouldn't have."

"I _wanted_ you to."

"I didn't know that."

Jaskier looked over his shoulder. "Yes, you did."

"No, Jaskier, I _didn't_." He pulled his hand away entirely.

Sensing how fragile the moment had suddenly become, Jaskier turned around cautiously. Geralt's gaze was pinned to the floor, hands twisted together. He licked his lips, looked like he was struggling to say something he must.

It took all of Jaskier's willpower not to speak first. He knew Geralt needed to say whatever came next. He'd already tried to say it this morning, but the bard had interrupted him with his own apologies. Jaskier had hoped that, maybe, these last threads of self-doubt would have unwound themselves from Geralt during their journey here. But he should have known better.

"I _didn't_ know you wanted it," Geralt said. "I _hoped_ , but I didn't know for certain. And I did it anyway. Because I wanted to." He glanced up, jaw clenched. "Even now--" He reached out, as if to pet down one long scrape on Jaskier's side, but his fingers never landed. "Even while I stand here hating myself for doing this to you..." His lip curled. " _I like it_ ," he admitted darkly. "How it looks on you. It was wrong of me. _And I want to do it again_."

Warring emotions twisted his features. "I hate that I hurt you, but I want to hurt you more. I don't want you to be scared of me, but I want to scare you. I can't stand that you're covered in bruises, but they're...so... _pretty_..." He looked away again, lip trembling. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do with this...these urges... I hate them and I want them. I don't..."

Jaskier softly cupped Geralt's face, encouraged him to meet his eyes. Geralt's gaze came to his for an instant, but flicked away. "I don't want you to torture yourself," Jaskier said. "Not over this, please. Not over something that I want you to have. I _want_ to give this to you."

_I will give you my pain, my fear._

_I would give you everything if I could._

"Geralt, that's why we have the game...the other game. That's why we have the Butcher, it's alright to want--"

"It's not about the Butcher, Jaskier. I thought the potion was forcing you. I believed that. What I did was _wrong_. I knew it was wrong when I did it."

Jaskier understood that his denials wouldn't help here. He could tell Geralt a million times that it wasn't wrong--that the potion hadn't given him much of a choice--and it would mean nothing. The potion had pushed them to it, but Geralt was too good a person to use it as an excuse. "Then let me forgive you." He stepped in close and gently nuzzled at Geralt's nose, asking for a kiss. "I forgive you," he whispered.

He didn't know if his forgiveness would allow Geralt to forgive _himself_ any more readily. But he hoped.

Geralt closed his eyes, but didn't lean in to close the gap between their mouths. "I _like_ hurting you," he said, voice so strained Jaskier could barely hear him. "But I don't want you hurt. I want to protect you, keep you safe. Even from me. How can I reconcile these...this...?"

"Kiss it better," Jaskier said suddenly.

The witcher let out a sharp breath.

Jaskier leaned in further, to whisper against Geralt's lips. "My bruises. Kiss them better."

Geralt pulled back to look at him, to search his eyes. But he didn't speak, didn't move.

So Jaskier pushed on his shoulder, urging him to his knees.

Geralt let himself be pushed. He dropped hard onto the planks of the floor, staring up at his bard. Tentatively, he placed his hands on Jaskier's thighs.

"Kiss me here," Jaskier said, rubbing at a purple blotch on his waist.

Geralt paused for a moment more, still probing Jaskier's gaze--looking for what, the bard couldn't say. Then, cautiously, Geralt leaned in, brushed his lips over the darkened skin.

The light contact made Jaskier thrum all over.

He pointed to the long scrape Geralt had been too scared to touch. "And here."

Hot breath dragged down the line of it.

He pointed at a blemish beneath his ribcage.

An apologetic swipe of the tongue followed.

He pointed next to his navel.

A tiny peck of the lips graced the small cut.

Jaskier slid his fingertips beneath the hem of his breeches, dipping against the throbbing bruise in the crook of his hip. "Here."

Geralt's hands came up carefully, guardedly, to undo the front of Jaskier's trousers. He folded the fabric aside with aching slowness, exposing Jaskier's lower belly, the top of his pelvis, the dark curls framing his cock.

He kissed where Jaskier indicated, but as he tried to pull back, Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt's hair, encouraged him forward again. Geralt kissed the spot once more, then again when Jaskier did not relent.

Jaskier's breathing was shallow, shaky. His lips tingled as blood rushed to his groin.

Geralt groaned, inhaled deeply, shifting lower, lips pressing at the base of Jaskier's semi-soft cock.

Jaskier gasped.

Geralt's hesitancy instantly disappeared. He yanked hurriedly at Jaskier's trousers, freeing his cock so he could tongue at the head, so that he could mouth at the shaft while Jaskier grew hard.

Fingers trembling, Jaskier carded through Geralt's hair with both hands, eventually cradling the back of his head, holding on.

Just _holding on_ as Geralt tormented him with the briefest of damp kisses, the gentlest of kitten licks. "Geralt..." he huffed.

"Do you want me?" he growled.

" _Yes_."

 _Yes. Yes,_ fuck _, yes. I want you now. I want you this instant. Get on the bed. Get on the chaise. Lay on the floor. Let me--_

 _Let me let me let me_.

His heart was racing, his cheeks were warm. Gods, he'd gotten _so_ hard, _so_ fast.

Geralt ran one finger up the underside of Jaskier's shaft. "Then take me," he dared, licking at his slit.

Jaskier whimpered. " _Geralt_..."

"Ask for it."

Jaskier closed his eyes, set his jaw, fisted Geralt's hair. And said nothing. He could do this. He could wait. He could resist.

He could play the game.

Geralt's hot, wet, perfect mouth closed over the head of his cock.

Jaskier sobbed.

Geralt swallowed him to the hilt, sucking firmly at his shaft for only a brief moment before pulling off with a wet _pop_. Jaskier's eyes flew open.

"Do you want me?" Geralt asked again.

"Yes," Jaskier whined.

"How much?"

"I _need_ you. Gods, Geralt, I--"

"Does it hurt?"

" _Yes_."

"Is the pain...good?"

"Yes. _Everything you do to me is good._ " 

_So good._

He wanted the torment, and he wanted the release. Just like Geralt desired his pain and his safety, Jaskier wanted to take Geralt right now and he wanted to be forced to wait forever in this excruciating state of pure arousal.

Geralt growled greedily, standing swiftly, encircling his arms around Jaskier--careful not to hold too tightly. He kissed him soundly. "I want you to fuck me," he rumbled. "I want you to make me feel things I've never..."

Jaskier whined weakly. He felt light headed. "You can't say things like that if you want this game to last." 

Geralt walked Jaskier backward until his calves hit the side of the tub. "We should get in," the witcher said, voice still gravel-filled, "before it gets cold."

"You could reheat it with igni," Jaskier said.

Geralt shook his head. "I can’t keep my hands to myself as is. You and me, perpetually warm water, plenty of oils at our disposal, not a scrap of clothing between us..." he sighed, "Can't say which one of us would end up riding a cock too soon."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are my fuel--and I love that you're all buckling in for the ride.

Jaskier's knees went weak.

He bit back an admission that threatened to fall from his lips, swallowing it, secreting it away. Geralt was already so fragile, felt so guilty--he didn't need to know that Jaskier would bend over for him this instant, injuries or no. Sore arse or no. If Geralt couldn't keep himself from taking Jaskier in the bath, he didn't care. He would accept it, because Geralt wanted it. 

He would accept so many things just because Geralt wanted them.

It should scare him, he knew, how _willing_ he was. Part of him had wondered if the fervor in him last night--his craving for Geralt's passions, regardless of what they were--had been a side effect of the potion.

But it wasn't.

He would agree to so much.

Geralt could do so many things to him.

So, _so_ many terrible, awful, wonderful, amazing, salacious things.

And Jaskier would do nothing to stop him.

He _had_ boundaries, he knew he did. But when it came to Geralt, he simply didn't know where they lay.

But best not to test them with Geralt in this state.

The witcher's hands went to Jaskier's hips, sliding around to his lower back, pushing at the top of his trousers, inching them further down his arse. His palms smoothed over the curve of Jaskier's backside as he forced the fabric away.

Jaskier fisted Geralt's thin shirt, yanking it from the hem of his breeches. When it was free, his shaky fingers fumbled with the buttons and ties on the front of the leathers, working them open with no finesse, like he'd never undressed someone before. 

He'd stripped dozens of men; why did Geralt feel like his first?

Hell, this wasn't even his first time undressing _Geralt_ \--even if all those other times had been related to injury or illness.

Perhaps it was because Jaskier was used to being the aggressor. The one chasing, the one daring. He was never the nervous one--the one holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen. 

But Geralt's yellow eyes turned on him now in a haunted, heated way, and he felt like he would never draw breath again.

Their gazes locked.

They both froze.

The air felt charged. Jaskier's skin prickled, like before a storm.

Something passed between them--a swell of emotions, the wave of it rising and cresting in a matter of moments.

A deep sense of trust, of comfort...and a fathomless _hunger_.

It reverberated in Jaskier's chest, tugged at his heart, his lungs.

Geralt blinked.

The wave broke.

The deluge released.

Growling, they fell into each other. Jaskier's hands flew up to Geralt's face to pull him close as Geralt's fingers dragged Jaskier's hips to his. 

The sudden kiss was crushing. Jaskier whimpered as he slid his tongue inside Geralt's mouth--seeking out the depths of him--and Geralt made a muffled huffing sound as he pawed at Jaskier's bum, pressing their straining cocks together--one naked, one not yet released.

They wanted to _fuck_. 

They wanted to fuck _so badly_. 

But they couldn't.

They _couldn't_.

Not yet.

 _Maybe we should have kept the potions,_ Jaskier thought as he pillaged Geralt's mouth. 

They could have locked themselves away and downed the poison together like lovers in a tragedy, letting the magic increase their stamina and their tolerance while it _obliterated_ their resolve. It would have masked the pain, heightened the pleasure. It would have stolen their worries and their reason and their gods damned _practicality_.

Jaskier would have been bedridden in the aftermath, but _who the fuck cares_?

With a strangled grunt, Geralt released him. "Get in the tub," he said.

Jaskier started to fumble with the buttons on Geralt's trousers again, but the witcher stopped his hands. "Just you."

Jaskier swatted him away, shaking his head. "Both of us."

Geralt gritted his teeth. "No. _Just you_."

"Take off your clothes."

" _Get in the tub_."

"I want you naked for me, against me--" He wanted to sit between Geralt's bare thighs in the hot water--he'd been fantasizing about it since the words _copper tub_ had been uttered. 

And if that led to more, so be it.

" _Jaskier_ ," Geralt snapped. He took a step backwards. "It's too much."

"What is?"

"This. _You_. I can't get in the bath with you." He wiped a hand over his mouth, took another step in reverse. "I don't want to hurt you, and I don't think I can stop myself from climbing on top of you."

Jaskier moaned. Precome dribbled from his dick. "I want you on top of me," he blurted. "I want you _beneath_ me. _I want to feel the heat of you around me_." He groped his own cock so that Geralt couldn't miss exactly what he meant.

Forget _discretion_ , for fuck's sake--they barely had an ounce of _self-control_ between them.

Geralt's eyebrows bowed, his lips parted. He looked doleful, desperate--like if he didn't keep shuffling backwards, he would pounce. "Then ask," he breathed, disquiet making his throat tight, his voice shake.

Jaskier's nervousness evaporated.

Suddenly, he understood--in a way he'd almost grasped before, but not quite.

For all Geralt's predatory instincts, the witcher was not, in fact, the hunter here. This dynamic was strange, different than anything Jaskier had ever engaged in before. Geralt played the part of the barely-contained brute, yes, but _Jaskier_ was the one with the power, the control. 

He was the one who could bring out the Butcher and cage him again.

He was the one who could make the requests, the demands.

All he had to do was ask, and Geralt would let him fuck him.

All he had to do was _ask to be fucked_ , he knew, and Geralt would be on him in an instant.

Geralt didn't trust himself now, so he needed Jaskier to be his restraint. To be in control.

But, oh, _gods_ , why would he think Jaskier, of all people, could keep his composure when a _witcher_ could not?

The appeals danced across his mind. He could taste them on his tongue.

_Please, Geralt, can I have you?_

_Please, will you let me fuck you?_

_Will you?_

_Please?_

_Gods_ damnit _, let me fuck you_.

"Take off your clothes," the bard commanded, summoning up all the self-control and authority he could muster.

"Jas--"

"Take them off and get on the bed."

Geralt still hesitated.

"No one's getting hurt," Jaskier assured him. "If you're going to make me bathe alone, the least you can do is let me see you." He sat down on the edge of the tub, then yanked his trousers off the rest of the way--sparing the seams this time.

Geralt watched him, the look of desperation still plastered across his face.

"You want me to ache for you..." Jaskier said as he took himself in hand, stroked his cock. His gaze bore directly into Geralt's. "...so you need to show me what I'm missing."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate every last kudo and comment. You all are amazing, thank you.

Geralt hesitated for another moment more, golden eyes fixated on the way Jaskier stroked himself. He startled when the bard said his name again.

" _Geralt_." Jaskier tried to find the same confidence in commanding the witcher as he'd had commanding the djinn; though he was sure declaring _I am thy lord_ would get him nowhere. " _Clothes_. Off. _Now_." 

Geralt nodded, lips slightly parted. He quickly shifted toward the bed as he moved to pull his shirt over his head. 

"Slowly," Jaskier bade him. " _Slowly_. Show me."

_Tease me. You wanted to fucking tease me, so do it._

Geralt paused--the hem of his shirt already raised to his ribs, revealing the strong banks and valleys of his abdominal muscles--before he began again, moving more deliberately, with more attention to his audience.

 _Yes. Tease me, tease me_ , _oh gods_ , _fucking_ torture _me, you magnificent, obstreperous, beast of a mutated man_.

It was no great dance of the seven veils that one might expect from the courtesans in Cintra, but Jaskier didn't need it to be. What he wanted to see was Geralt's body working--to admire the planes of his skin, interrupted as they were with brilliant scars, and to delight in the way his muscles rolled and his ligaments stretched.

As the witcher raised the fabric over his head, Jaskier teethed at his bottom lip and the fingers on his free hand went white-knuckled against the lip of the tub. There was something about the coarse hair on Geralt's pectorals, under his arms, and trailing down into his partially-undone breeches that made the bard's heart skip a beat. 

Jaskier wanted to bury his face in it.

With a smirk, Geralt slowly turned around to face the bed, his back to Jaskier. He folded his shirt and placed it to the side before reaching for his trousers. Hooking his thumbs at his sides beneath the hem, he pushed down.

Jaskier's breath caught in his throat. He squeezed his cock hard, letting the firmness of his grip edge into pain. Gods, he could come just from the sight of all that marble-like skin.

He'd seen Geralt's naked backside more times than probably made rational, _platonic_ sense, now that he thought about it. After all, it wasn't like Geralt couldn't reach his own arse to apply whatever salves needed applied. But he'd asked Jaskier, and each time Jaskier had jumped at the chance without running even one rational thought past his logic centers.

And yet, even if all those other times had been thinly veiled ruses--Geralt had obviously _wanted_ Jaskier to touch him, wanted him to massage his sore muscles, wanted Jaskier to make him feel good after a hunt--this time was still different.

This time Jaskier had his hand on his own stiff cock, and Geralt...

Geralt--

Geralt only pushed his trousers down low enough to expose his bum and no more before his hands shifted. His left went up to the nearest bed post, bracing, while his other snaked around to the front as he widened his stance. He still had his back to Jaskier, but there was nothing mysterious about the way Geralt's right arm now worked in front of him.

Geralt was fondling himself, and his taut backside flexed and relaxed subtly with each gentle pet. His shoulders shook ever so slightly, tensing as he pleasured himself-- _teased_ himself--and his head tilted to the side in relaxed bliss.

He made not a sound, and Jaskier longed for one gasp or deep growl.

After a few delicious minutes, his left hand retreated from the wooden post, coming down to clutch his own arse cheek, fingers digging in, pinching his pale skin, leaving red marks behind when he found a new grip.

 _Fuck_.

Jaskier's cock jumped in his palm. He wanted Geralt's hands to be his hands. He'd barely gotten to admire Geralt last night. Barely gotten to feel him, explore him, the way he'd been dying to. Because Geralt had held him a bay.

But now here he was, still moving in his stiff, witchery-way, but unabashedly exhibiting all his... _gifts_...just for Jaskier.

Jaskier's hand worked faster on his prick, his other scraping at the top of his own leg--mimicking the way Geralt had clawed at him the night before. His toes curled against the wooden floor as his pleasure built. He balanced precariously on the side of the tub, putting the onus on his thighs instead of his arse to keep him upright.

But it wasn't until Geralt slid his middle finger down the cleft of his backside--letting out one long moan as it went--to land teasingly at his hole, that Jaskier lost both his wits and his balance.

His orgasm was nearly upon him. His balls started to tighten, and his toes curled all the further, pushing him up, _back_ \--

Gravity did the rest.

With a yelp, he fell backward with a massive _splash_. 

Warm water enveloped him, swamped over his face, blurred his vision and invaded his mouth. 

He felt the _thump thump thump_ of Geralt's steps reverberate through the tub, and was not in the least bit surprised to be yanked erect by Geralt's grip on his bicep before he could manage to right himself.

He choked, spluttered--struggling for air.

His hands found the edge of the tub, and he kicked his legs away from where they hooked over the basin's lip. Heart racing, he pulled himself squarely into the center of the bath.

Geralt patted him on the back as he continued to cough, and Jaskier hid his wince when Geralt's palm hit a particularly tender vertebra.

"I might not have a harem girl's bravado, but no need to drown yourself," Geralt quipped.

"This should not be taken as ill commentary on your performance," Jaskier managed between coughs. "Quite the opposite." He breathed deeply as soon as he could, chest heaving.

Geralt knelt beside the tub, leaning in to smooth Jaskier's sodden fringe away from his eyes. His fingers worked over Jaskier's brow, his temple--chased rivulets of water down his cheek. His touch was soft, gentle.

But as soon as Jaskier's breathing evened out, Geralt captured his bard's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "You look good wet," he purred.

Sharp, pleasurable surprise curled in Jaskier's lower belly. His cock jumped beneath the water.

The fingers on his chin were firm, controlling, and Geralt's eyes had gone dark, his jaw tight, cheeks the softest petal-pink.

Geralt looked stricken. Overcome. Hungry to fulfil a sudden, greedy impulse.

Jaskier had a mere moment to decipher Geralt's expression before the witcher's thick fingers left his chin to yank at his hair, pulling tight. Jaskier had to lean back into Geralt's grip, exposing his throat.

For all Jaskier's lungs had struggled to pull air a moment ago, now they refused to work. His breath caught in his chest, anticipation making his throat constrict and his groin throb.

The look on Geralt's face did all kinds of things to him.

It conveyed a dark appetite--a barely-dammed desire. Geralt's gaze held a craving for something the witcher clearly thought he shouldn't want.

Geralt was so good at begrudging himself the things he longed for. And he could deny himself forever--starve himself of such pleasures, anything he worried was too perverse, too demanding, too monstrous.

So it fell to Jaskier to coax his sinister thirsts into the light of day. To give him permission to slake his need.

It wasn't difficult to decipher what Geralt wanted. Jaskier could tell by the way he licked his lips and tracked the droplets of water dripping from the bard's chin and rolling down his throat.

"You want to push me under...don't you?"

Geralt's eyes went wide for a moment--he was clearly surprised to hear his wish given voice. But then he pursed his lips, nodded.

Jaskier's fingertips tingled. He tapped them against the copper. "Do you want me to struggle? To fight it?"

Geralt's lips parted as he gasped, and his eyes fluttered closed for the briefest moment. He nodded again.

Jaskier's heart thumped all the faster.

Gods, he _wanted_ to be roughed up again. He _wanted_ Geralt to shove him around. He wanted to be thrown into the floorboards, wanted to be manhandled up against the wall, wanted to be tossed on the bed and pinned so he couldn't move.

He wanted Geralt to come at him with no mercy. To be wanton with need. To be uncontrollable--insatiable. 

If Geralt wanted to half-drown him because he liked the way Jaskier looked drenched, then by gods, Jaskier wanted it, too.

He caught Geralt roughly by the medallion, tugging him closer--meeting him with a quick, violent, sloppy kiss. He put _bite_ and _heat_ and _spite_ into it, trying to drag Geralt's beastliness to the surface.

When Geralt growled and bit back, Jaskier knew he had him.

With another yank at his chain, Jaskier stared into the witcher's eyes. He gritted his teeth, curled his lip cruelly and whispered, "Do what pleases you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Next chapter Jaskier gets held under water.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Dunking. Breathplay.

"What pleases me?" Geralt mumbled.

"Yes," Jaskier insisted. "Do what pleases you."

Geralt nipped at Jaskier's bottom lip. "You please me."

"Then do what you want with me," Jaskier whispered.

"We both know that's a dangerous proposition."

"I like danger," he said stupidly. He _felt_ stupid--struck silly with his desire to fulfill whatever blackhearted needs Geralt insisted on trying to hide from him. Jaskier wanted to pry every secret he could from between the witcher's ribs. He wanted to give Geralt everything he'd ever craved and more. " _Do it_ ," he demanded.

With a groan of appreciation, Geralt tightened his grip in Jaskier's hair and held--rigid, steady--until Jaskier gave him a brief nod, confirming this was what he wanted.

The bard snuck in the slightest of breaths before Geralt thrust him forward, forcing him to plunge beneath the surface. Water flooded into his ears as Geralt pushed hard, driving Jaskier's head between his knees.

Jaskier tried to push himself up, then batted wildly at the arm holding him down, clawing at the hand in his hair. He thrashed as if his life depended on it.

But there was no panic, no worry. He trusted Geralt with every fiber of his being.

His heart might have fluttered--but only because he knew how this had to be affecting his witcher. How Geralt had to be growing harder, blood pouring into his cock, making it thick and heavy between his legs.

Jaskier had a new sudden impulse of his own: to feel that cock hot against his tongue.

His lungs hadn't even started to strain, yet Geralt was already hoisting him back up, hauling him out of the warmth of the water and into the slight chill of the room.

Jaskier made a big show of gasping for air, but before he could draw more than one raggedy breath, Geralt was yanking on his hair again, redirecting him--

Pulling him in for a frantic kiss.

Jaskier moaned into his witcher's mouth, fingers coming up to lightly flutter over Geralt's stubbled chin, to feel the water dripping from his own face onto his. 

It was messy. Sodden.

Jaskier felt disheveled, unbridled. 

How could everything seem filthier now that one of them was finally in the bath?

Geralt broke the kiss to press his forehead to Jaskier's. After a moment, he let out a shuddering breath, steeling himself. Clearly ashamed, he uttered the smallest plea: "Can I...? Again?"

Jaskier swallowed harshly. The desperation in Geralt's voice, the yearning for something so simple, had Jaskier near drunk on power. "For longer this time?" he offered.

Geralt _whimpered_ \--as though Jaskier had wounded him with his generosity.

Gods, if that wasn't the most delicious sound...

"Yes," Geralt sighed, " _Please_."

"Alright," Jaskier agreed, "Alright."

Geralt yanked him back again, mouth set in a harsh line, eyes covetously wandering over Jaskier's damp face, his torso.

And then he was shoving once more, lips curling in a sneer as he dunked Jaskier under.

The water rushed over the bard, cradling him like a warm blanket.

This time, while he struggled, Jaskier focused on Geralt's fingers. The way they knotted in his hair, tugged at his scalp. How possessive it felt. How dominating.

 _Fuck_ , he loved feeling claimed by Geralt. He wouldn't tell Geralt just yet, but he still wanted a scar. Wanted some mark that other lovers would look at and run their fingers over and ask about. He wanted a reminder that no matter how many beds he fell into, he ultimately belonged to the White Wolf--his friend, his muse, his everything.

Jaskier's lungs started to burn. He hadn't been counting as he held his breath. How long had he been under? Ten seconds? Twenty? More?

It didn't matter. An instant later, Geralt heaved him upright. 

Jaskier gulped air, running his palm over his face to clear his eyes and mouth. Geralt's free hand shot over the lip of the tub to catch the bard's wrist, shoving it away as he drew him in--growling--for more sloppy kisses.

Jaskier was still blinking water out of his eyes as Geralt's tongue slid smoothly between his lips. The bard gave as good as he got, even chasing Geralt's mouth as the witcher leaned back to speak.

"I want to do so many things to you," Geralt admitted gruffly.

"You can," Jaskier assured him.

"You don't even know half the ways I long to take you. Long to use you."

"Then tell me."

"...What if it scares you?"

"You wanted to scare me."

"But not..." Geralt swallowed around a knot in his throat. "I don't want to scare you _away_."

"You can't scare me away." They'd been to hell and back already, both been close to death on multiple occasions. Geralt's desires could be no more frightening than anything else they'd faced on the Path.

Geralt's grip on Jaskier's hair tightened further. "Why do you trust me so much?" he demanded. His self-doubt was raw, obvious--an open wound.

"You're the best man I know," Jaskier said. "Mutated or otherwise."

Geralt looked away. But Jaskier wouldn't let him hide.

"You are," the bard insisted. "You _are_." He took him by the chain again. "Geralt, I've been in love with you since I was eighteen. Trust _me_. Trust that I know what I want. Trust that I understand you. Trust that whatever I offer you, I offer freely. I trust you, just..." He closed his fingers over Geralt's medallion, let the circle of it bite into is palm. "All you have to do is _trust me back_. If I don't want something, I will tell you. I _will_." 

"You're an idiot, you know," Geralt snapped, but there was no malice in the insult. It was difficult to say, even, which of the two of them he meant. 

Geralt's free hand roamed up Jaskier's chest--clearly aiming to grip him around the back of the neck--but faltered. He released Jaskier entirely. "Your bandages are soaked," he said with a sigh. "They should have come off before you got in--"

"Fell in," Jaskier corrected.

"--and still need to come off. So you can clean the wounds properly."

"Will you clean them for me? Please?" Jaskier asked quietly.

Geralt paused, considering--still trying to chase away the vestiges of doubt that wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't let him simply accept Jaskier's readiness, his sincerity, without second guessing.

But cleaning wounds was familiar territory. Something he knew how to participate in without overthinking. 

He gave Jaskier a _hmm_ and a nod.

Then he stood.

And Jaskier found himself face to face with Geralt's hard cock. Surprised, he made a strangled sort of gargle as he nearly swallowed his own tongue, bringing up a hand to shield himself, almost as if he'd been presented with a raised fist instead of a cock.

"Whoa, whoa. Warn a man before waggling that in his face, why don't you?"

His lips had never been this close to that beautiful dick before. He lowered his hand. His mouth watered.

Gods, and he could _smell_ him. His sex, his musk. No need for enhanced witcher-senses.

Geralt smirked, nonchalantly slipping his trousers the rest of the way off as Jaskier continued with his melodrama. 

"What did you expect?" Gerlat asked. "Besides, you needed rescuing before I could finish undressing for you." He drew his fist down his length. "You asked for a show, then interrupted me. Very rude."

What was rude was how Geralt was just _standing there_ , the head of his prick hovering less than a foot from Jaskier's mouth, a pearl of precome glistening at the tip.

The bard leaned in, up, but Geralt pulled away. "Bandages. _Off_ ," he demanded, echoing Jaskier's tone from earlier.

With a whine, Jaskier moved to comply. His hand fluttered to the wrappings over his shoulder, the ones hiding the bite mark. He had a sudden urge to see it. To see how deep Geralt's teeth had cut him.

How long would he keep the mark?

He pulled all the coverings away, and Geralt drew in a quick breath. 

"The glass," Jaskier demanded, pointing over to the chest where the salts and soaps and other bath-time accoutrements lay. "Geralt, the mirror. Please."

Geralt found what he was looking for quickly--a small barber's glass, to help with shaving. He passed it to Jaskier, a slight tremor in his hands. 

Jasker watched Geralt's face as he accepted it. Took in how his breathing had changed, how his pupils had gone wide, how he couldn't tear his eyes off the newly revealed bite.

Geralt _liked_ it. Of all the marks he'd left on Jaskier, there was no doubting this was his favorite.

When Jaskier turned the mirror on himself, the bite wasn't the first thing he saw. Instead, his gaze caught on what Madame Kowalczyk had seen--his purple cheek and red-striped throat. 

He did look a bit like he'd been through a bandit attack.

But then he found what he was looking for: a beautiful ring of teeth marks, studded through with small, fresh scabs where Geralt had drawn blood.

Geralt knelt to the floor behind him. Their gazes found one another in the reflection. Without a word, Geralt bent over Jaskier's shoulder, leaving gentle kisses against the bite as he admired it.

If anyone saw it, there would be no mistaking how the wound had gotten there.

For a time, at least, Jaskier had been visibly claimed.

Geralt trailed kisses away from the bite, across Jaskier's shoulder and up the side of his neck. He nosed at his pulse point, breathing deeply. "There's only one down side to bathing you," he purred into Jaskier's ear.

"What's that?"

Another deep breath. Geralt rumbled happily in his chest, satisfied with the scent. "Afterwards, you won't smell like me anymore."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are too good to me <3

"I smell like you? Now?"

Geralt nodded against Jaskier's neck. "No one would be able to tell except a witcher. But it's there. All over you. Everywhere I've touched you."

A delectable shiver ran down Jaskier's spine. "Would you like it if we ran into another witcher while I smelled of you? Of your hands, your mouth...your cock?"

Geralt growled into his skin. 

"Would you like him to know what you've done to me? Would he understand what it means? Do you think it would warn him to stay away... or would he want to mount me too?"

Geralt snarled, nipping possessively at the bolt of Jaskier's jaw.

 _Mmm. Oh, oh yes, that's good_. If an imaginary rival was enough to rile Geralt...

Slowly, Jaskier turned in the water, looking for Geralt's eyes. "Or, what if, instead...he smelled _my come_ on _you_? What if he could smell that I'd had you? Been _inside_ you?" He thumbed at Geralt's bottom lip, delighting in how wide-eyed he was. "Do you think he'd want me to _fuck him good_ too?"

Geralt dove for him-- _violently_ \--locking their mouths together, pushing Jaskier back, away from the edge. Jaskier dropped the mirror over the side, onto the wooden floor, as he let Geralt shove him to the opposite rim of the tub.

Geralt freed him for only a moment, just long enough to clamber over the side and into the water with him. 

The bath sloshed, a wave of it splattering over onto the floor.

Jaskier was surprised, but far from disappointed. "I thought you weren't getting in," he gasped as Geralt bracketed him between his arms--the witcher's fingers curled over the edge of the copper on either side of Jaskier's head.

Their knees threaded together. Geralt's cock lay heavy against Jaskier's leg.

" _Someone_ goaded me into it," Geralt said, voice all gravel. He kissed Jaskier again, hungry for it, taking in each press of their lips like it was a lungful of air. "I want you inside me," he growled against Jaskier's mouth.

Jaskier hummed back in in appreciation. "Gods, I'm going to fuck you so, so good." He threaded his fingers through Geralt's long hair. "...But not tonight."

"Yes, tonight."

"No."

"Fuck me, you _bastard_."

" _No_. Not yet."

Geralt grumbled disapprovingly, slapping the side of the tub in frustration.

"But I can take the edge off," Jaskier said slyly, reaching for Geralt's cock. "If you'll let me."

Geralt shuddered beneath his touch.

"When you retrieved the mirror, did you by chance--?"

Geralt groped back over the side, searching for something. A moment later he held up a cake of soap between them. The scent of jasmine grew stronger.

Jaskier plucked it from his fingers. "Excellent." He lathered it between his hands, then slipped it beneath the surface-- _ran it down the length of Geralt's cock._

The witcher gasped, leaning back against the opposite side of the tub as he thrust his hips forward.

Geralt's prick felt smooth under Jaskier's hands, like silk over steel. It was weighty, and thick, and Jaskier devoted all of his self-control to simply washing it instead of diving under to take it between his lips. He refused to use the soap sparingly, rubbing it in circles, slipping it up, then back down. Again and again, until Geralt's hips were subtly chasing it.

He looked so delicious, so perfect. And so relaxed.

After a while, Jaskier slid the bar along the inside of Geralt's thighs, then around his testicles, before pressing further back, back...

Geralt groaned, throwing his head back.

Biting his lip, Jaskier let go of the soap, replacing it with his fingers between Geralt's cheeks. His other hand encircled Geralt's shaft at the base, squeezing hard enough to feel Geralt's pulse throb beneath his palm.

"Jas--" Geralt moaned.

The pad of Jaskier's middle finger slid against Geralt's entrance.

Geralt's abs tensed, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Jaskier felt lightheaded. He realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale. _Now_ he felt like he was underwater. _Now_ he felt like he was being held down. _Now_ he felt like someone was keeping him from getting a proper lungful of air.

Geralt slowly lifted his head. The look he gave Jaskier was equal parts tranquil and debauched. "Ask."

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking_ shit.

Gods, here he was, mere centimeters from absolute heaven. The goddess herself would weep to see Geralt of Rivia split open on a poet's cock in this very tub, he was sure.

"Have you ever given anyone permission to finger you before?" Jaskier asked, voice wavering as much as his willpower.

"No," Geralt said with a smirk.

"Will you let me?"

"Are you going to fuck me?"

Jaskier whined in the back of his throat. His own cock pulsed with want. He was hard, and hot, and it would be so easy to encourage Geralt to straddle him, to hold on to those perfect pale hips, running his thumbs down that tight V as he guided Geralt down to sit on his dick. 

"Have you ever fingered yourself before?" he asked instead of answering Geralt.

"Yes," Geralt admitted.

"And you liked it?"

"Yes."

"Did you fantasize about someone else touching you this way? Fucking you?"

"Yes. I've never asked anyone to fuck me before, but that's not because I don't find it appealing."

"Why not, then? Why not indulge yourself?"

"Because I've never trusted anyone enough. Not until..." He reached out, cupped Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier closed his eyes, leaned in to the touch. "And then," Geralt continued, "after I met the one person I knew I would give myself to, I thought he would never ask." Geralt's thumb swept over the seam of Jaskier's lips. "I want him to ask now."

"He wants to ask now," Jaskier said, opening his eyes.

"Then he should," Geralt said firmly.

Jaskier pressed his finger forward, not entering Geralt, but promising to. They both gasped. 

He was so close. _They_ were so close.

Fuck it, maybe Geralt's first time didn't have to be perfect. Was _anyone's_ ever perfect? Maybe he was depriving Geralt of the typical first time by overthinking things. 

_No. No. I said I would wait. I can. I'm not so desperate as to throw my reputation as a giving and generous lover out the window. I cannot properly perform for Geralt now, and I won't let him settle for my second best_.

Geralt tried to grind down onto Jaskier's hand, but the bard snaked it away.

"You said you'd take the edge off," Geralt gritted between his teeth. "But I think it's safe to say I'm decidedly _more on edge._ So ask, _for fuck's sake_."

Jaskier found the soap again, leaned in to rub the cake of it up Geralt's treasure trail. "No," he said. "But you're going to be a good witcher and let me suck your cock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming content warning: Geralt divulges more non-con fantasies.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Geralt's non-con fantasy here is a little more detailed than they've been before.

"Get up," Jaskier ordered, breathless. "Sit on the side of the tub."

Geralt did as he was told. Water poured down his body--between his legs, off his cock--as he sat on the brim, one hand propped on his thigh, one eyebrow quirked in a question.

"Spread your legs for me," Jaskier said, sliding between Geralt's knees as the witcher complied.

Jaskier arched his back, lifting his arse out of the water as he leaned in to mouth at the wet hair around Geralt's cock.

With an appreciative rumble, Geralt splayed one hand between Jaskier's shoulder blades, rubbing for a moment up and down his spine. "Your hips..." he mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"The _bruises_ ," Geralt explained, his voice strained.

"Mmm."

The witcher smelled mostly of the jasmine soap now, but there was still a hint of his natural muskiness. "Tell me a fantasy," Jaskier bade, looking up through his lashes, nosing at the base of Geralt's cock. "You imagined taking me in so many ways... Have you imagined it the other way around? Have you imagined me fucking you?"

"Yes," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Tell me. Tell me, _please_." 

The witcher's cock was thicker, even, than he'd realized. It had stretched him so good last night, and it would stretch his lips now. His jaw would ache after this, he was sure. But he wanted Geralt to fill him up--to block his throat, to stifle his air. 

Geralt grabbed him by the wet hair, angling his mouth just the way he wanted it. Jaskier parted his lips, let Geralt guide the tip of his cock between them. They both moaned.

He tasted incredible. A bit of precome smeared across Jaskier's tongue, and he lapped up the bitter-saltiness with fervor.

"Would it surprise you to know that in those fantasies, you still don't get a say?" Geralt asked. "That I still take what I want when I want it?"

Jaskier pulled back just far enough to ask, "How? _Tell me_."

"Do you remember what happens when I take an Ekhidna Decoction?"

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. "I was looking for sexy talk, not shop talk," he quipped.

Geralt still had Jaskier by the hair, his other hand curled around his own cock. He guided the head of his dick across Jaskier's cheek--made the bard chase it with his tongue. "Do you remember what that decoction does? What happened the last time I took it?"

Jaskier thought hard, searching his memory. But it was difficult to focus with Geralt's cock dragging across his face, teasing him. "Performing tasks that take stamina increase your vitality while you're under its influence."

"Yes. Good. And last time? When I took it a few months ago?"

"You...you came stumbling back to camp in the middle of the night. Woke me up--out of quite a lovely dream, I might add. There were water nymphs, Geralt, loads of them, and they were--oh, right. Your eyes were black and you were breathing heavily. You shook me awake--yanked me out of my bedroll by my collar, in fact--and when I asked you what was wrong, you cursed at yourself and ran off into the swamp. I didn't see you again until morning."

Geralt smiled. "You do remember."

"Of course I remember, but what's that got to do with--?"

"If I finish a hunt too quickly, before the decoction has burned itself out...all I want to do is _get fucked_...for hours. Uses stamina, increases vitality."

"Oh. _Oh_."

Geralt licked his lips, nodded. "That night in the swamp I fingered myself thinking about you. I came six times."

Jaskier opened his mouth to gasp, and Geralt took the opportunity to _shove_ his cock in. Jaskier's own dick spurted beneath the water, and his eyes rolled back. Geralt's prick slid heavily across his tongue. He didn’t even have half of it in his mouth, and already he felt _so full_.

"That night--with the mixture making my cock hard, fogging my mind, with the impulse to fight and fuck all wrapped up in one--I imagined things going differently at camp. After I tore myself away from you and found a quiet place to ride out the decoction, I imagined what might have happened if I hadn't wanted to protect you. If I'd only cared about my urges and not about keeping you safe.

"Because when I saw you there, asleep on your bedroll--unaware--I _ached_ to feel you slip between my thighs. I couldn't stand how vulnerable you were, how innocent you looked. Exposed, alone. Anything could have stumbled upon you. A man...a monster."

He rolled his hips, pressing his cock deep into the back of Jaskier's throat. The bard accepted it with pleasure, held his breath--reached for his own cock under the water.

"So I imagined taking you--teaching you a lesson. Showing you why you could never let your guard down.

"In the fantasy, my boots and my trousers are gone before I've crossed to your side of the fire. But the rest of my armor stays. I'm on you before I even know what I'm doing. Throwing the bedding aside. Ripping your breaches open. Putting my mouth on you, coaxing you hard before you're even fully awake. You startle, you struggle--because you don't know what's happening, don't know it's me. And when your cock is fat and leaking, I stand, and hold the tip of my bloodied sword to your throat. You ask me what I'm doing as I drop to my knees, your hips between my legs. And I don't tell you, I don't say anything. I just sink down, take you inside me."

Jaskier whimpered around Geralt's cock. He pulled back with a gasp, fisting Geralt's length, tonguing at the head. "Keep talking," he urged, before taking him fully once more. 

"I toss my sword away," Geralt said, panting, watching Jaskier slide up and down his shaft, "And I cover your mouth with my hand, stifling your screams--no matter if they're pleasure-filled or horrified. Because I don’t care which they are. And I _make you fuck me_. I fuck myself on your cock until you're crying, tears streaming down your face. And you come--against your will--hot and hard inside me."

Jaskier choked, squeezing the base of his own cock.

 _Fuck. Oh_ gods. He was going to come right now, wasn't he? All because of Geralt's deep, dirty voice. All because of his sick fantasies and his warm, delicious fucking dick.

"And I keep riding you. I ride you hard. I could. _Now_. Gods, Jaskier, I could ride you so hard right now. I would fuck myself open so good on your cock if you'd just--"

Someone knocked at the door.

They both froze.

"Who is it?" Jaskier said. Only not really, since he still had Geralt's cock in his mouth. What came out was a muffled jumble of syllables, which earned him a slap upside the head from Geralt.

"Master Julian?" Madame Kowalczyk asked from the other side of the door.

Jaskier's stomach turned to ice.

"He's indisposed at the moment," Geralt called back--voice remarkably steady. "What can I do for you, my good lady?"

Jaskier cursed at himself, tried to pull away. Geralt held him in place.

"Indisposed?"

"He's saving his throat for tonight's performance," Geralt said, rolling his hips, pushing his cock that much further down said throat. "Can't be coaxed to utter a word until then."

"Ah, well, I just wanted to check on you, sirs, since the patron below you has made a complaint."

"Oh?"

"Apparently there's water comin' through the ceiling."

Jaskier gave Geralt a worried look, tried to pull away again. But Geralt refused to take pity on him.

"Master Julian took a tumble getting into his bath," Geralt informed her.

Jaskier's eyes fluttered and he swallowed hard around Geralt's cock. Fuck, he'd never called him _Julian_ before.

"But no harm done?" she pressed.

Geralt gazed down adoringly at Jaskier, running his thumb across the corner of his mouth, delighting in the way it stretched around his shaft. "He's quite well," Geralt insisted.

"Well, if all's fine, then..." she said, thought she sounded skeptical.

They waited patiently for the sound of footsteps retreating. Geralt didn't let Jaskier go until they were sure she was gone.

As soon as he was freed, Jaskier immediately bit Geralt--hard--on the inside of his thigh.

" _Ow_ ," Geralt said indignantly, batting his bard's ear once more.

"Say it," Jaskier whispered. "Again. My--my name. My real name."

"Julian?"

He closed his eyes. It sounded so right and so wrong. It made him feel both more himself and like a different person entirely.

Geralt's thumb swept across his cheek. "Do you want me to call you--?"

"No," Jaskier said, eyes opening. "No, not-- Maybe? Maybe just...once in a while?"

"Jaskier, Julian...Dandelion. I'll call you whatever you want."

Jaskier smirked. "At the moment, I think you should call me Oh Fuck."

"Why woul--?"

He descended on Geralt's cock again, taking as much of him as his could, drooling around it, moaning.

Geralt grabbed him by the back of the head, immediately groaning: "Oh, _fuck_."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad this is helping you all through some tough times. It's helping me, too <3

One of the greatest pleasures in life--and Jaskier considered himself quite well-versed in great pleasures--was to bring a person to climax with naught but one's mouth. To tongue at a delicate clit until its owner shuddered and mewled, to suck at the silken head of a cock until it gushed between his lips. To focus entirely on bringing someone else off while he let his own desires build, to let their bliss provoke his.

 _This_ was what separated the true lovers from the mere philanders--those who took pride and pleasure in giving, not just receiving.

And, Gods above, to be able to give to _Geralt_... To finally feel him pulse between his lips, to taste him--slick and bitter--across his tongue...

The witcher's thighs shook as Jaskier took him deeply and moaned around his shaft.

"Jaskier, I'm going to--I'm gonna--" He yanked at his hair, pulled him back, off. "I'm going to come soon, you blasted--"

"That's the idea, Geralt." He tried to lean in again. Geralt held him back.

"But, I want--damnit, Jaskier, I need--"

"What?"

"I want to come with you inside me."

Jaskier groaned, turned his head, mouthed sloppily at where he'd nipped at Geralt's thigh earlier. "I won't take you now," he breathed into his pale skin. "I _won't_."

"I know," Geralt gritted, cradling Jaskier's head. 

"Then let me finish."

"No."

Jaskier made a pained noise. "It _was_ you who complained of being on edge, wasn't it? Or am I mistaken?"

"I like the edge."

"Let me finish."

"No."

"I want to taste you. Your _spend_."

"I _know_ ," Geralt said again, this time in a conniving a purr. 

The bard couldn't believe the bastard was doing this. "No need to torture us _both_."

"But it's so much sweeter this way... _Julian_."

Jaskier shivered.

"I won't come until you're inside me."

"I would never ask for something so selfish, Geralt, would never deny you--"

Geralt's fingertips petted down Jaskier's cheek, slid over to his mouth. "I know. That's _why_ I'm denying it." He fisted his own length. "Suck me more."

"But don't make you come?"

Geralt nodded. "Don't make me come."

Melitele help him, Jaskier had never been good at edging. He _wanted_ his partners to tip over into pure ecstasy--reveled in the sounds and the movements and the scents and the flavors. He wanted them to come fast the first time so that he could make them _come again_. 

Geralt forbidding him from wringing a climax from his cock was too, too cruel.

Though...the witcher _could_ go one step crueler. He hadn't yet, but he could.

Maybe _wouldn't_ , if Jaskier could keep his big mouth shut--if the bard could deign, for once in his life, to keep silent as his mind reeled. If he could bite his tongue, then--

Nope. The thought had occurred. It had to be voiced.

"What about me?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"Can I come?" Jaskier prompted.

"Do you like it when I tell you what to do?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to make the choice for you?"

"This time, yes."

Geralt _hmm_ ed, nodded. He fisted Jaskier's wet hair, pulled his head back harshly. "Then you come in me, or not at all."

Jaskier gasped. "That might not be for _days_ ," he said, incredulous. 

Geralt leaned over him as he yanked Jaskier further back. He nosed at his throat, nipped at his chin. "Then we suffer for days," he growled. "I'm going to wash you, properly," Geralt said slowly. " _Thoroughly_. And you will not come when I touch your cock. You will not come when I clean your backside. You will not come with my prick in your mouth, and you will not come when I suck you in return. Not unless it's too much. You say Marx's name, and you get to come whenever you want--with one exception."

"What?" Jaskier breathed.

"You won't get to come in me my first time."

The threat shot straight to Jaskier's cock. He closed his eyes, grimaced, groaned. 

_Who taught you_? Jaskier wanted to demand. _Who taught you how to torment me this way_?

 _You did_ , he said to himself _. You didn't have to hand him your blue balls on a silver platter, but you did, you brilliant buffoon_.

Geralt's fingers passed gently over Jaskier's tight temples. "Do you want me?" he whispered.

"Yes," Jaskier said through clenched teeth, opening his eyes, finding Geralt's gaze hot and eager.

"Does it hurt? Not having me?"

"More than ever."

Geralt hummed in appreciation. "Put your mouth on me. And pass the soap--I'll lather your back."

Jaskier followed both directives with ardor.

How was he going to get through tonight's performance--let alone the next day--without a single orgasm to ease the way? He had everything he'd ever dreamed of--Geralt naked, ready and willing--and yet it was his own body and his own pride that prevented him from indulging on the greediest of terms.

"Will you sing the one about the fishmonger's daughter tonight?" Geralt asked.

Jaskier released Geralt's cock just long enough to ask, "Is that a request?"

Geralt shrugged, running the wet and readily-shrinking cake of soap down Jaskier's spine. "Thought you might be able to write off the inevitable tent in your pants to a zeal for authentic performances."

Jaskier chuckled around Geralt's cock. _I can control myself on stage_ , he thought.

Right?

He could. 

He'd never gotten an erection performing before. Even with maids winking at him and showing him their cleavage from the front row. Even when one woman had tossed him her very lacy smallclothes that had smelled of pure sex.

There had been that one time, he supposed...but that was during a rehearsal, and the flautist had been putting his hands on an _instrument_ other than his own. It didn't really count.

Yes, he'd gotten erections and gotten rid of them _between_ sets, but that was different.

And yet, with Geralt in this taunting state--

He'd said _inevitable_.

A foregone conclusion.

The witcher wasn't planning on letting him perform in peace.

Shit.

Oh, dear gods, he hoped the kitchen was far, far away from wherever he'd be busking that evening. Geralt could wash his dishes and Jaskier's poor cock could take a breather for five minutes.

"Stand up," Geralt told him. "Time to clean that pretty prick of yours."

And, just like that, it was Geralt's turn to be dubbed _Oh Fuck._


	9. Chapter 9

The witcher cleaned Jaskier with as much care and consideration as the bard had shown the other way around. He made Jaskier face him, stand steady before him, as he brushed the soap and a damp cloth over his sensitive skin.

Jaskier was able to behave--to be _good_ \--while Geralt ran the soap between his legs. He was good while he lathered his balls. He was even good while Geralt handled his cock--despite still being _painfully_ hard. 

But it was _exceedingly_ difficult to be good as Geralt ran his fingers up the cleft of his arse, and pressed between his cheeks, and slid one lathered fingertip fucking _inside_ him.

" _Geralt_ ," he squeaked, knees going weak. He braced himself on Geralt's shoulders to keep from collapsing down into the tub.

He trembled all over. The press and stretch were pleasurable, but an aching throb accompanied the enjoyable sensations--reminding him, once again, that he was in no condition to be fucked. 

"Still so loose," Geralt rumbled, immediately slipping a second fingertip in beside the first.

Jaskier searched for a witty rejoinder. "You try sitting on a monster cock and-- _gah_."

A third fingertip joined the party. 

"I plan on it," Geralt said with a smirk. He kept his probing shallow, kept up the pretense that he was only bathing the bard. _Thoroughly_ cleaning him.

"Yes, yes, well, that's very flattering," Jaskier said, squirming, "but have you seen yourself?" Jaskier knew his cock was no trifling thing, but he couldn't beat Geralt for length or girth.

"Jaskier, _I've never ridden_ a cock before," he said frankly, leaving Jaskier to decipher the rest.

Oh. _Oh_.

Geralt had never ridden a cock before, so Jaskier was going to feel quite _monstrous_ in his own right.

"Now, stop wriggling," Geralt ordered, giving his fingertips a twist inside Jaskier, just to be callous about it.

A deep-set pleasure-pain ran down the backs of Jaskier's thighs.

How the witcher had managed to go from feral-devourer to this sort of near-clinical caretaker was beyond him. It reminded Jaskier of the difference in Geralt's reactions to an ambush versus a well-planned hunt. 

Ambushed, Geralt was all passions; he acted on instinct, let his mind fall back and his body push forward.

Whereas when he had a plan of attack, he was cool, reserved. Methodical.

All current signs pointed to Geralt having a well-defined strategy for attacking--figuratively speaking-- _Jaskier_ this evening.

But then Geralt got cocky. He leaned forward, took Jaskier's throbbing prick into his mouth. 

Jaskier gasped as the velvety wetness he'd so rejoiced in the night before returned, just as heavenly as he remembered.

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, and his eyes changed. The deliberate, stiff way he'd been holding himself bled away, eased out of him. He became pliant. 

He _tasted_ Jaskier, _scented_ Jaskier.

His pupils went wide and he growled, taking him deeper--a hint of his feralness creeping back.

"Don't make me come," Jaskier reminded him breathlessly, holding onto the back of his head.

Geralt growled again. 

" _Don't make me come_." Jaskier's voice became a pleading whine--not quite the same desperate mewls of denial he'd used while Geralt played the Butcher, but close. He wanted to rile him. If Geralt was going to run some sort of gambit on Jaskier while he was on stage this evening, the bard wanted him equally needy and uncomfortably aroused. 

"Don't make me come," Jaskier begged. "Don't make me come. Don't make me...please...don't..."

Geralt's fingers twisted in him, sliding in to the first knuckle. Jaskier cried out, and Geralt's entire body tensed in a now-familiar way: he was struggling to keep himself in check.

"Please," Jaskier whimpered. "Don't make me. _Don't_. I want to come in you your first time. We both want that, don't we?" His instinct was to wax poetic about incandescence, and ecstasy, and two bodies entwining to become one. But Geralt appreciated directness. Metaphors and similes would never earn Jaskier the same fevered response as a desire voiced plainly. "How long have you wanted to feel me spill into you? How long have you wanted to be full of me, in every way I can give you?" Geralt's eyelashes fluttered, he bobbed his head, dragging his lips and tongue up and down Jaskier's blood-hot cock. He clearly wanted _more_ \--to taste _more,_ to hear _more._

"I want to be so close to you, so deep in you," Jaskier continued, his dick pulsating as Geralt sucked him to the hilt. "I want to come with you thrusting against me, taking me so good, so greedy. I want you to finally have everything you've ever imagined. I don't want you to force yourself to come cold and alone in a swamp anymore. When you want me, I want you to have me."

Geralt made a muffled groaning sound around Jaskier's cock. His fingers shook, his shoulders heaved. 

"You want me to come inside you, don't you?" Jaskier whispered. "Then, please...don't. Don't make me... _please_." His legs started to tremble, his entreaties came between panting breaths. "Geralt...please, I'm so, so close--" 

With a shuddering gasp, Geralt pulled back, whisking his hands and mouth away, clinging to the side of the tub.

Jaskier nearly fell forward on top of him. Gods, he really had been _that close_ to coming.

Lips full and shiny, Geralt looked up at Jaskier with needy eyes. "You'll be the death of me."

Jaskier bent to kiss him lightly, slowly, letting the gentle tug of his lips convey meaning to Geralt in ways his words could not. "I promise that if I kill you, it will be with kindness."

"I think...I think you should finish washing yourself," Geralt said, gritting his teeth.

Jaskier smiled at him.

"Having a difficult time with your edging proposal already?"

Geralt nodded, casting his eyes down as though ashamed.

Jaskier kissed the top of the witcher's head, then took the rag from him and settled back down in the tub. "It's not fun if it's _easy_ , Geralt," he assured him. 

Geralt's jaw tightened, but he nodded again in agreement.

Keeping himself afloat so as not to put undue pressure on his backside, Jaskier noticed how tepid the water was getting. "I'll be quick, so that the water's not too cold for you. That is, if you still insist on not casting igni."

In response, Geralt drew a sign against the copper. Heat flared through the metal, into the water--just enough to be comfortable, not to scald. Jaskier hummed his thanks.

Geralt didn't leave as Jaskier set to his task, instead he simply sat there on the edge, eyes raking over Jaskier's body.

It made Jaskier want to stretch out like a cat. He loved that Geralt now looked at him this way, so openly, so hungrily.

How else had he imagined taking his bard?

Gods, Jaskier was going to wring every last fantasy out of Geralt. He would make him recount every single time he'd ever imagined them fucking, every single time he'd ever touched himself to thoughts of Jaskier. 

Geralt had been so good with his words thus far--delivering a cornucopia of details Jaskier wouldn't have previously dared dream of--knowing the bard apricated every word, cherished them all. 

In return, Jaskier could be good with his actions. Geralt spoke a language of gifts and service, and if Jaskier had his way, he was going to gift-and-service him into _gods-damned blissful_ fucking _oblivion._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a deadline looming, but I couldn't stay away. <3

They both finished bathing, but it took a long while for them to dress again, even as they went about unpacking their things and arranging the room to their liking. Each time one of them moved toward a shred of clothing, the other made a displeased sort of sound, sidling up to the other to salaciously brush past, rub against, or simply kiss them.

They both knew it was silly. They couldn't very well just _not wear clothes_. One of them had to leave the room soon to check that Roach had been tended to appropriately, and to talk to Madame Kowalczyk to make sure they understood what was expected of them this evening.

This was still the real world in which they had real responsibilities, no matter how Jaskier felt as though he'd fallen through a portal and landed in a wet dream.

Eventually Geralt grabbed his trousers and did not put them down again, no matter how much Jaskier whined and pawed at him.

The witcher sat at the foot of the bed and shook out his breeches, ready to pull them on, but Jaskier went to his knees between Geralt's feet, laid his head against the inside of Geralt's left knee. He blinked up through his lashes and gave his best puppy-dog eyes; they'd worked so well earlier today, why not try them on Geralt?

Geralt sighed in mild exasperation. "You've seen me naked before. You'll see me naked again," he said bluntly.

"And as much as both past-naked and future-naked you are a joy to contemplate, it's presently-naked you that I'm most concerned with at the moment."

"I have to go out and see to things, while you get to stay here and compose."

"Nonsense, I'll come with you."

"And blow our cover?"

Jaskier gave him an exaggerated frown and a shake of the head--he didn't understand what Geralt meant.

"You were distracted by my cock in your mouth, but when your Madame came by before I told her you were refusing to speak."

"Yes, right. Sure. Oh, but artists are fickle, she won't suspect--"

"And likely your throat truly does need the rest."

Jasker paused, tilted his head thoughtfully against Geralt's knee. "You don't _want_ me to go with you."

"I didn’t say that."

"Because if I do it will ruin your _plan_."

Geralt glared at him.

"So you _do_ have a plan!"

"My plan is to make sure we don't get kicked out these fine lodgings you've smoothed-talked us into."

"Sure, sure," Jaskier nodded, turning absently inward to kiss Geralt's supple, newly-washed skin.

Jaskier might not smell like Geralt any more, but using the same bath water and the same soap meant they both inescapably smelled _exactly the same_ at this moment. The bard secretly hoped a stranger would notice.

"Well, just so happens I have _my own_ errands to run," he said with a smile.

"You do?" Geralt asked skeptically.

Jaskier smoothed one palm up the back of Geralt's calf, appreciating the firmness. "There are certain items I'd like to procure for our future...activities."

"Such as?"

Jaskier bounded up onto his feet and kissed Geralt on the nose--which made Geralt scrunch his face in mock-disgust. "That, my dear witcher, is a surprise."

Geralt grunted. "I don't like surprises."

" _That_ is not true _at all_ ," he said with a laugh, moving toward his dropped doublet.

Geralt rolled his eyes and hurriedly pulled on his trousers, knowing he could find his legs reoccupied by unruly bard at any moment.

"Fine," Jaskier said grandly. "We will dress, make our way out into the streets, and proceed to purchase our salacious _whatevers_ without the watchful eye of--"

"Who said I had to purchase anything?" Jaskier turned in time to see Geralt raise an eyebrow. "I have everything I need."

Jaskier tried to hide his smile, twisting his lips to keep it back. There went his witcher again-- _taunting_ him. Daring him to pry.

What kind of a performance-interrupting plan would require him to leave their room, yet procure nothing? 

This was turning out to be a delicious sort of riddle.

"Well, you should know that _I_ intend to drop quite a hefty bit of coin on _you_ , if I can find the right merchants." Jaskier replied. "The contents of my purse wouldn't have bought us a night here, but it could have kept us under a roof elsewheres for a week. I'd much rather empty it on your pleasure, though."

"You don't need to spend that much," Geralt said quickly. "Probably shouldn't."

"Probably shouldn't," Jaskier echoed lightly, not in the least deterred.

They finished reluctantly dressing in silence. Jaskier preened in front of the glass for a few minutes, covertly watching Geralt watch him in the reflection. When they were both fully dressed, boots and all, they made for the door. 

Geralt stopped Jaskier as he reached for the handle, catching his hand. He twisted it slowly, pushing down the cuff of Jaskier's doublet as he raised the inside of the bard's wrist to his lips.

Jaskier's heartrate immediately ticked up.

It was such a simple, affectionate gesture, and yet it sent his blood racing as quickly as if Geralt had shoved him against the door instead.

Geralt hummed approvingly--he could clearly feel Jaskier's veins throbbing against his lips, could smell the way the increased thumping made the scent of jasmine waft away more readily from his skin.

In all Jaskier's years of pining after Geralt, he'd never once imagined such gestures. The roughness hadn't surprised him, not really. But this? These calm, tender, sweet moments?

The almost-shy glances, and the teasing, and the care--the way he could be so attentive, could slow himself, could lighten his touch and gentle his voice for a lover--had all been a surprise.

How had Jaskier's imagination been so limited? He chided himself for not envisioning the depth of him--the layers of expression and endearment that could be revealed. 

When Geralt removed his lips, he replaced them with his thumb, rubbing over Jaskier's fluttering pulse.

"You humans and your wild hearts," he mused.

 _You witchers and your wonders_ , Jaskier nearly replied. But he kept silent, not wanting to disturb the dreamy look on Geralt's face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some POV swapping because...fuck all my plans, I'm bored.

One minute Geralt had been staring at Jaskier's wrist like it was some delicate, lovely thing, and the next he was yanking open the door and shoving the bard through it with all the rowdy bravado of a first-year at Oxenfurt. 

Jaskier stumbled halfway to the staircase landing, and Geralt shouldered him good naturedly as he walked past, keeping Jaskier off balance. "Watch your step, bard."

"You watch it, you prick," Jaskier taunted back. "Or I'll be writing your dirge next."

"Is this all that kindness you said you'd be killing me with?"

Oooooh, just for that, Jaskier was going to buy him something _extra_ special. Maybe clamps of some kind. "Keep digging, Geralt," he called as the witcher started down the stairs, white head shaking in amusement. "You've no idea what you're unearthing."

Descending the stairs himself, Jaskier took better stock of the inn. They were on the top floor with two more below before the ground level. At the base of the stairs, the kitchen lay off to the right and the dinning area--complete with slightly raised stage for entertainers--lay all the way on the other side, with the bar in the middle.

Perfect. This would throw a wrench in Geralt's plan. It would be difficult to interrupt Jaskier's sets if he was stuck behind a closed door on the opposite side of the building.

He turned to smirk triumphantly at Geralt, who seemed...unnervingly unbothered. 

"See you in a few hours?" Geralt grunted.

"Sure, yeah, of course," Jaskier said, still unable, for the life of him, to figure out what under the heavens Geralt could be planning.

Testing the weight of his purse, Jaskier headed for the door as Geralt sought out Madame Kowalczyk.

#

It was, perhaps, far too easy to find the kind of vendor Jaskier had been hoping to locate. And there was something about the modest size of the town in comparison to the _immodest_ size of the shop that said something--or rather, _screamed_ something--about the relative interests and pastimes of the town's residents.

Not that Jaskier was complaining, he'd just been...surprised.

Even on Skellige, large wooden phalluses were not something one saw hanging in a shop window just any-old where.

Jaskier took his time browsing the wares. Lingering--but not skulking. He only had so much coin and wanted to get this right, after all.

He wanted to purchase things that would appeal to every single one of Geralt's heightened senses. He wanted to soothe his nose, and titillate his tongue, and set his nerves on fire in the very best way.

But when Jaskier and a pretty brunet--who smelled heavily of roses--reached for the same oil at the same time and she fluttered her eyelashes at him, he knew it was time to make his selections and go.

"You're the bard, aren't you?" she asked. "The one performing tonight at the Dandelion?"

"I--I am. How did you--?"

"There's a witcher going around singing your praises."

Jaskier's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Is there now?"

"Oh yes, just absolutely insisting that anyone of some standing must attend your presentation." She fluttered her eyelashes at him again, passed him the oil they'd both been after. "I must say I wasn't expecting to find his description of you quite so..." she raked her eyes over him-- "Accurate."

Jaskier found his mouth had gone dry. Usually this was the part where he eased into flirtations, swiftly taking up the role of cad. But this time he wasn't focused on the dainty thing before him. No, he had to know--

"Wh-what did he say about me?"

"That you were tall, and talented. That you would be easy to spot, dressed in royal purple--which suits you." She licked her lips. "Oh, and that you never fail to satisfy."

Suddenly his palms were sweaty.

"Your _music_. It satisfies," she clarified--ironic, since her meaning had been _perfectly clear_ to Jaskier.

"You know, I--I have a busy evening, as you indicated, and I really must be--"

"Oh, come now, no one stops in here alone unless they wish not to leave alone."

He flushed, fiddled with the vial in his hands. "Well, that is, just, well, _vital_ information for a traveler such as myself--who is only passing through and quite unaware of local tradition--so I thank you for the-- _ngh_."

That was her hand. 

Unabashedly _on his cock_.

What was it with strange, dark-haired women grabbing him by the cock lately?

"There are lots of local traditions I could teach you," she purred.

And there went his blood, rushing in the opposite direction of his brain.

Fuck his fucking cock and its gods-damned hair trigger. Maybe if Geralt hadn't insisted on edging them both to death, he wouldn't be so mortifyingly _responsive_ at this very moment.

 _Pull yourself together_.

"Madame," he said firmly, plucking her hand from his crotch and flinging it to the side. "I am here to purchase entertainments for my _companion_."

Her brow furrowed. "And by companion, you mean..." she gestured vaguely outside.

"The very same. Another time, another place, and I would be sweeping you off your feet and into the nearest hay stall. But, alas, I have already promised my bed this evening to another."

She very graciously took a step back, didn't seem offended. "Well then, I shall have to let thoughts of you and your _companion_ warm me for this evening," she said slyly. "But if you change your mind--" she winked at him-- "I work for the herbalist 'round the corner."

With that she scooped up three vials of lubricant and a very, _very_ large glass phallus, and hurried over to the merchant.

Jaskier ran a hand over his face, hardly able to process what in the gods' names had just happened.

He quickly finished making his selections, threw down the coin, and hurried back to the inn.

#

Geralt wasn't much of a barker, he knew. There were times when he could hardly convince people to hire _him_ for the jobs he was literally made for, let alone convince them to go see someone else engaged in their profession.

So he was not in the least bit ashamed to apply a touch of Axii to the situation. He doled out low-intensity gestures in the street, just enough to get the more attractive or more well-to-do people to listen to him. Just to get them to agree to consider attending.

If they actually came to the inn, he was planning on using the sign a bit more liberally, anyway. 

Consider it an entry fee.

Really, this was a completely inappropriate use of Axii. But, since it _was_ mind-control, there hardly _were_ any appropriate uses, in his opinion, next to stopping abuse and bloodshed.

But this was all in good fun. And no one would notice a thing. No one except Jaskier.

When he was sure he'd piqued enough interest, Geralt trudged back to the inn. Jaskier was already in their room, waiting for him.

A parcel of black cloth, tied up with twine, sat on the chaise. Geralt pretended not to notice it. In fact, he found himself pretending not to notice several things.

There was a... _scent_ in the room. Maybe it was the parcel. But it seemed to be coming from Jaskier. Jaskier, who looked a bit more exhausted and a bit more harried than he had when they'd left to take care of their relative business.

The scent was distinctly floral. But not the jasmine of their bath. Roses.

"There you are!" the bard said emphatically. "I'd begun to worry I'd lost you to the horse stalls or the notice boards. Take care of everything you needed to take care of?"

"Yes," he grunted, trying to ignore the foreign aroma.

Trying so _hard_.

Because Jaskier _wouldn't_ \--he _wouldn't_ , not now, not when they'd finally fallen into each other, not while they were playing games and bringing each other nearly to fucking climax in fucking too-expensive baths. Not when Geralt was doing everything in his fucking power to hold Jaskier's attention.

Jaskier wouldn't go seeking pleasure with someone else right _now_.

He _wouldn't_.

"Are you alright?" Jaskier asked, moving closer to lay a hand on Geralt's arm.

Geralt set his jaw and pursed his lips and tried to take deep, calming breaths--except that just made the offensive odor in his nose all the more intense.

He was being unreasonable, he knew. Jealous and stupid, for no gods-damned reason.

He was a witcher; he was better than this. After all, the scent was light. It wasn't all over Jaskier. 

He tilted his nose into the crook of Jaskier's neck, and Jaskier leaned his head to the side in welcome. The smell wasn't there. Wasn't on his skin.

He came up to kiss him, and Jaskier kissed him back enthusiastically. The smell wasn't on his mouth, and he tasted just as he had when he'd left.

It was on his clothes, then, Geralt was sure. But not his doublet--all the smells there were purely his own.

It was coming from below his waist.

A possessive fire roared in Geralt, flaring out of him before he could tamp it down. " _Take off your clothes_."

"But you spent so much time convincing me to put them back on--"

"I want the fucking things _off_."

 _Stop it_ , he bit at himself. _Stop it. You don't smell someone else's seed. You don't smell his climax. You don't smell that a woman has had him. You're just_ \--

 _Jealous and stupid_ , he thought again, _for no gods-damned reason_.

Jaskier had probably accidentally bumped into someone in a too-crowded marketplace, and now Geralt was turning into a selfish monster for _no reason_.

 _No fucking reason_.

No fucking reason other than his own insecurity. 

Now that he had him, he was afraid of losing him.

Geralt ground his teeth together and forced himself calm. "You look...tired," he said. "There are still hours yet before your performance. You should sleep."

If Jaskier noticed his outburst, he didn't say anything. "You know what, yes." He began to strip. "I think a nap would be just the thing." He strode toward the bed. 

He took off his doublet and his linen shirt and his boots and such...but his offending trousers stayed on.

"I did ask Kowalczyk to bring our dinner up this evening," Jaskier said casually, still seemingly unaware of Geralt's irritation. "Wake me when she arrives?"

"Sure."

"Oh, and Geralt?"

"What?"

"No snooping," Jaskier said with a wink. "We'll unwrap your presents together."

That thought eased some of the tension from Geralt's limbs. Jaskier had bought him things. Had bought _them_ things. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

With that, Jaskier crawled onto the bed, face-down, not bothering to draw back the covers. 

But he was restless and soon flipped over. A ragged hiss left his lips. He tried his side. Apparently, no good. Tried his front again.

"What's wrong?" Geralt asked.

"Just having a little trouble finding the right position. One that doesn't--" He flopped onto his back and hissed again, lifting his backside off the mattress.

"Bed that awful?" Geralt prodded.

"Under different circumstances it would be a delight. However, at the moment, parts of my body aren't exactly pleased to be touching anything but empty air." He huffed a sigh. "Maybe a nap isn't in the cards after all."

"I think I can help you," Geralt said. "Shuffle down to the end of the bed. "

#

Jaskier had noticed a new tension in Geralt the moment he stepped through the door, but he'd written it off to the inevitable discomfort associated with forcing himself to rally a crowd. Geralt absolutely detested extended interactions with large numbers of people, after all, but he'd done it for Jaskier. Which made it just about the sweetest thing Jaskier had ever known Geralt to do.

But when he'd barked at him to take off his clothes and go lie down for a nap, Jaskier had wondered if something else was eating at him. Hopefully none of the townsfolk had decided to throw bigoted insults his way. Usually the witcher let them roll off like water down a duck's back, though they stung none-the-less. Right now, however, the two of them were both emotionally vulnerable and a bit raw, and any additional irritants were likely to wound more than usual.

Still, if Geralt didn't want to bring up whatever it was, then Jaskier would give him his space. He'd even give him some quiet time to collect his thoughts.

That is, if he could find a comfortable position on this mattress.

It was a _down_ mattress for heaven's sake. Feathers. Lots and lots of airy feathers. If that couldn't cradle his bruises properly, what could? He certainly couldn't sleep standing up.

"I think I can help you," Geralt said, then indicated he should move to the end of the bed. 

With a frustrated sigh, Jaskier wriggled down until his ankles slid over the edge. Then Geralt grabbed him by both feet and yanked him even further--until he was far enough over the end that his feet could touch the floor and just his back was propped on the mattress, leaving his backside suspended in the air between.

"As much as that definitely alleviates the pressure," he said, "If I fall asleep this way, I'll only end up on the floor."

Geralt went to his knees before him. Jaskier immediately propped himself up on his elbows, curious as to how exactly a sexy witcher between his legs was supposed to be conducive with sleeping.

Geralt grabbed each of Jaskier's feet in turn, moving them to the tops of Geralt's thighs. "Brace your feet on my legs. Yes, like that. See? I can support you, keep you from slipping off, and there's no added pressure on your bum."

"You're just going to sit there while I sleep?"

"I'll meditate."

"Ah."

"Go to sleep."

Jaskier closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the sound of Geralt's breathing--so steady. Tried to ignore the taut thickness of his thighs beneath the pads of his feet--tried not to curl his toes into them. Tried to clutch his fingers into the bedding instead of rocketing upwards to thread them through Geralt's hair. 

"Maybe you should come up here and sleep with me."

"No," Geralt chuckled, though his voice still sounded oddly strained.

"Why not?"

"We wouldn't sleep, and you know it."

"What's...what's wrong, Geralt?" he tried.

"Nothing." Too quick. Too clipped.

"Something's bothering you."

"Yes--you're not sleeping, you're squirming."

"That's not... It's not me, is it? Did I--?"

Geralt's palm splayed over Jaskier's naked stomach, making his abdominal muscles jump. "No. It's me. It's not... I didn't like being away from you. Not right now. Not so...so soon after last night."

 _Last night when you thought you'd hurt me and that I'd hate you when I awoke_.

He covered Geralt's hand with his own. 

Yes, they were both so very raw.

"I don't think I can sleep this way," Jaskier said. "It's not the position, it's...I--I'm..."

"Spit it out, Jaskier."

"I liked the way I fell asleep last night."

"You were coming down off a potion-high."

"I don't mean that. I liked falling asleep with you wrapped around me. With you...inside me. Close to me. I felt safe."

"You _are_ safe."

"Geralt..."

"You're far too tender for that right now."

"I just need...something. I don't know, Geralt, I don't know what I'm asking for."

Geralt _hmm_ ed. Another moment passed, then his free hand was undoing the laces on Jaskier's trousers--the other still spread with steadying force over his belly. "Don't get hard," he ordered.

"Don't get--?"

But then a heartbeat later the fabric was yanked aside and Geralt's breath was ghosting over his naked prick. A hot mouth descended, enveloping his soft cock.

Jaskier made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, then tried to sit up. But the big hand on his stomach encouraged him back down.

"You really expect to suck my cock without me _getting hard_?"

Geralt let him go with a wet sound. "I'm not sucking it."

"Well, could have fooled me."

"I'm...warming it."

"That you are," Jaskier agreed.

"Sleep," Geralt said again. "Let me hold you, and just...sleep."

Jaskier took a deep breath, counted to ten, then let it go again. He tried to slow his heart as Geralt's mouth returned--wonderful, damp heat encompassing him.

 _Don't get hard, don't get hard, go to sleep, don't get hard_.

Geralt pulled back for only a moment more--apparently to drool all over the crotch of his trousers. Jaskier couldn't quite comprehend what _that_ was about, but then Geralt's mouth was back over his semi-hard penis-- _shit shit shit, don't get hard, oh, bollocks_ \--and he tried to think of nothing but clear skies and calm waters and _sleep sleep sleep_.

#

When Geralt meditated, he emptied his mind. Let his body go stony. Still.

But this afternoon he couldn't find his usual tranquility. Yes, perhaps it had to do with the cock in his mouth--the stretch of his jaw and the taste of Jaskier all around. Or maybe it had to do with the smell of roses he was slowly washing over with his own scent.

Maybe.

But it wasn't _just_ that.

He kept replaying part of the previous night in his head. 

And not the good part.

He thought about Jaskier falling asleep in his arms--falling asleep on his _cock_. 

He thought about how Jaskier had said, "I love you. Don't leave me." 

The _way_ he'd said it...it _still_ hurt. Even with Jaskier here, now, under him, trusting him. The echo of that final plea still haunted him.

Because he'd steadfastly tried to ignore it. He'd tried to leave. And he couldn't bear to think of what would have happened if he'd been a stronger man...if he'd been able to follow through.

Where would Jaskier be now?

Still at the same campsite? Waiting, hoping?

Feeling empty and alone.

Geralt had hated himself for not pulling out of Jaskier as soon as the bard was asleep. He'd stayed, buried inside him--selfishly. And he'd shifted positions one too many times for that shifting to be innocent. He'd told himself he was just trying to get comfortable, but his hips had rolled, there'd been blessed friction on his dick. He'd still been as hard as steel, and his sword was loath to leave its sheath.

Because it didn't just feel _good_ \--it wasn't simply about keeping his cock wet and warm.

He'd _also_ felt safe.

Jaskier made him feel safe in ways no other human ever had.

And he'd been sure, come daybreak, that that safe harbor would be no more. That he'd ruined the one pure bond in his life, the one good thing.

And so he'd selfishly held onto that feeling of safety for as long as he could.

He'd drowned himself in Jaskier's _I love you_ , hearing it echo in his mind over and over again.

Thank gods he'd been so weak. That he hadn't been able to let go. Otherwise they'd both be spending this time heartbroken and alone, feeling like monsters, each sure they were unworthy of the other.

Now, Geralt tried to quiet his thoughts. Tried to narrow his focus. He searched for a mantra that would let him sink into himself and find that usual meditative silence.

But the "I love you, don't leave me" returned.

And this time, the voice wasn't Jaskier's.

_I love you, don't leave me._

_I love you, don't leave me._

_Jaskier, I love you._

_Please, don't leave me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt aint Geralt if he's not angsting on some level.
> 
> CW for upcoming chapters: Light mind control.


	12. Chapter 12

A knock at the door startled Jaskier. 

Hours had passed. The sunlight through the window now sent long shadows away from the furniture.

He sat up, knuckling sleep out of his eyes. Geralt's warm mouth was still slung around Jaskier's soft cock, and he did, indeed, appear to be meditating. Slowly, Geralt's eyes opened and their gazes met. 

Jaskier had never seen a more enticing sight in his entire life: a witcher with a mouthful of cock and a halo of happy-haze around him.

The bard's dick immediately started to swell.

The knock came again.

Geralt pulled off Jaskier with a slurp.

"Gentlemen?" came a muffled entreaty from the other side of the door.

"Laces," Geralt said, gesturing at Jaskier's trousers.

The bard tucked himself back in. Geralt stood and went for the door, swiping up Jaskire's shirt on the way. He tossed it over his shoulder and Jaskier snatched it out of the air.

As he pulled it over his head, Jaskier began to hum. A light, happy tune. That nap _had_ done him good, and while his mind still felt a little groggy, his body was reinvigorated.

He felt like he could prance around on stage for hours, or...

He glanced at Geralt, who was wiping his face on his sleeve--chin and mouth excessively damp, his lips flushed.

...or maybe fuck a witcher. 

Jaskier unintentionally made a needy little yearning sound in the back of his throat, and Geralt shot him a look before opening the door to reveal Madame Kowalczyk.

"I hope quail pie is acceptable," she said immediately, shoving a tray into Geralt's hands "And mint leaves for after."

"Thank you," Geralt said graciously.

"Dear, you've got a little..." She gestured at the corner of her own mouth, and then--to Geralt's mortification and Jaskier's absolute glee--she reached up and swiped a motherly thumb over the edge of Geralt's lip.

Every muscle in Geralt's body went stiff.

It was all Jaskier could do to keep from laughing. Kowalczyk wasn't the type to let anyone intimidate her, and clearly could reduce even the burliest, gruffest hunter into one of her little dandelions.

To see such a trick used on Geralt--on the man who naught twenty-four hours ago had become the brutal Butcher and chased Jaskier through the trees and tossed him to the ground and _fucked him like a feral beast_ \--was pure delight.

"There, gone now," she said with a wink. "Bring the dishes down with you when you're through, witcher. Those can be the first you wash. See you in an hour, Master Julian?"

"With bells on," Jaskier said, dipping and throwing out his arm in a bow.

Nodding, she twirled out of the room. 

Geralt brought the tray over to the sitting area, setting it down beside the water jug and the remainder of the dried fruit, while Jaskier gingerly glided off the tall mattress and just narrowly avoided slipping in a wet spot on the floor.

"You made a puddle," Jaskier informed Geralt. 

"That's what happens when your mouth is stuffed full of cock for two hours straight."

 _You say that like you've done it before_ , Jaskier thought with interest.

He skipped around the wooden partition and dropped himself into the velvet chair. " _Straight_ is not a word that belongs anywhere near this situation," he quipped.

Geralt glared at him. 

"What? Oh, oh I see, I'm not permitted a joke or two about how very, very queer this is? Perhaps you'd simply like me to save all my witticisms about it for when I'm literally buggering you?"

"I thought you had a reputation as a _romantic_."

"I also have quite the reputation for crassness, which you well know. But if it's romance you want...?" He didn't try to hide his wide grin. Flirting with Geralt was so much more fun now that Geralt flirted back.

Geralt _hmm_ ed noncommittally and arranged their food on two small plates. "Come eat."

"Can I come and then eat?"

" _No_."

"Bollocks."

The pie smelled divine, and Jaskier made a point of _not_ needling Geralt about whether or not he was happy with the amount of filling. He stood and took the plate that Geralt pushed toward him, adding a few extra figs and the like to the pile before plopping himself back in the chair.

Geralt brought his own plate over to the chaise, where he sat down with a good foot between himself and the wrapped package.

Jaskier typically took his time eating. Mostly because he both refused to let a meal go by without conversation and was too well-groomed to speak with his mouth full. This evening, however, he found the needs of his belly overriding the needs of his tongue, and he devoured most of his pie before uttering an extra word.

"You know," he said eventually, stabbing at the remainder of his crust with a small fork, admiring the way it flaked. "One of these times she's going to _actually_ catch one of us with a cock between our lips, and then where will we be?"

"Roofless once again, I imagine," Geralt--who had no qualms about his table manners--said around a chunk of quail. He sat hunched forward, with his legs spread, elbows propped on his knees as he picked at his food with his fingers.

"Yes, precisely. And then I'll have to search for the proper place to bed you _all over again_."

"I still maintain I could be bedded, quite easily, wherever."

"And _I_ still maintain that you deserve better."

"We don't always get what we deserve. And, sometimes, we get more than we deserve."

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to fall back into your maudlin-ing. Yes, yes, yes, I'm too good for you, too much for you to handle, and, frankly, an absolute catch. So buck up and prepare to take my cock in whatever way I choose to give it to you."

Geralt stopped chewing, pinning Jaskier with a scowl that belied his obvious amusement.

"There's a good witcher," Jaskier added with a wink. "Now, would you pass me the mint?"

Instead of asking why Jaskier couldn't get up and get his own mint--as Jaskier was half expecting him to do--Geralt simply stared at him for a beat before shrugging and getting up to retrieve the small dish of fragrant leaves. 

While Geralt's back was turned, Jaskier put his plate on the floor and slid out of the chair, stealing Geralt's exact spot on the chaise. He splayed his legs, just as Geralt had, and threw one arm across the plush velvet backing.

When the witcher turned again, his scowl returned. "You took my seat."

"I _improved_ your seat," Jaskier said, quirking his eyebrow in wry invitation. The bruises on his legs weren't nearly as bad as the bruises on his torso, thank the gods.

Geralt curled his lip and growled, stalking forward, mint forgotten.

His gaze was narrow, dark.

Predatory.

For half an instant, Jaskier wondered if he'd made a horrible mistake. If he'd attempted to pull such a trick in a tavern, Geralt would have hauled him up by his collar and thrown him to the side.

No reason to think he wouldn't do the same now, especially with his meal interrupted, pie only half eaten.

But then Geralt was on him-- _straddling_ him. _Mounting_ him. Climbing into his lap in exactly the same manner Jaskier had tried to mount Geralt several times the night before. He sat heavily on Jaskier's legs, their groins not quite touching.

Geralt caged Jaskier in, gripping the back of the chaise on either side of his head. "Hmm. You're right. Much improved," he purred.

Jaskier swallowed harshly.

Tentatively, he settled his hands on Geralt's hips. "You forgot the mint," he said--almost absently, for his attention was definitely not on the mint and was instead entirely focused on the heat and the weight and the shape of the witcher in his lap.

He marveled at how their bodies fit together like this. Jaskier usually felt more dominant, more in control, when a potential conquest sat in his lap. It was usually a chance to be suave and cocky. But there was no mistaking that, right now, Geralt had him _pinned_. He wasn't going anywhere without Geralt's say-so, couldn't make a move unless allowed.

"Should I go back for it?" Geralt asked, voice low.

Jaskier shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "Pass me your present instead."

Geralt sat back on his haunches, putting all of his weight on Jaskier's thighs as he picked up the package and held it between them expectantly, gaze boring into Jaskier's. 

Jaskier wetted his lips and met the witcher's stare. His heartbeat thumped in his ears. His fingertips tingled. His face flushed.

Blood was already rushing to his cock in anticipation.

He wanted Geralt to like his present.

He wanted Geralt to want to use his present _right now_.

Fuck.

He wiggled beneath the witcher, trying to push his hips up--to push their groins together. Gods, he needed to grind against him.

"Easy," Geralt whispered, setting one palm against Jasker's chest, like he was gentling a horse. He could tell Jaskier was working himself up.

Jaskier _wanted_ to work himself up.

He ran his hands over Geralt's thighs. "You're so..." Jaskier whispered, starting the sentence, having no idea how he intended to finish it. "You just make me... To think that I could have ever tolerated being so close to you without touching you... How did I...? You..."

"Shh."

"I don't want to _shh_ ," Jaskier said dreamily. "I want you to know how insane with desire you make me." He slid his hands around to clutch at Geralt's backside. "I can't stand that there's even an inch of clothing between us. I can't stand not having you naked. I can't stand _not having you_. It _does_ hurt," he admitted. "It has always hurt. It's hurt for years, Geralt--how much I want you."

Geralt growled in appreciation, leaning in, shifting his hips to press himself against Jaskier's cock. "I never want you to stop wanting me. Even after you take me, will you still ache for it like this? I want you to ache for it." 

" _Gods, Geralt_ ," Jaskier said, voice strangled. "How could I not?"

With trembling fingers, Jaskier slowly pulled at the twine on the package, letting the string and the outer cloth fall away from the bundle.

Inside lay five cloth pouches. Geralt set the bundle between them and plucked up the pouches one by one. Starting with the smallest, he revealed a bottle filled with white powder. He uncorked it and sniffed, but apparently didn't find its scent familiar. "What is it?"

Jaskier licked the tip of his pinky finger and stuck it in the bottle, letting the tiniest bit of powder cling to it. He held it up a whisper away from Geralt's lips, and the witcher sucked it in without question.

Jaskier's cock twitched, the head growing wet with precome.

"It tingles," Geralt rumbled.

"It tingles," Jaskier agreed, voice awed.

The next three pouches contained vials of slick oils, each with a subtle fragrance. "I wasn't sure which you'd prefer," Jaskier said as Geralt sniffed them. "But I know you like honeysuckle, and cedar, and apples, so I thought at least one would--"

"I like them all," Geralt said warmly.

The fondness in Geralt's voice made Jaskier blush like a maiden. "Good."

The last pouch was much larger than the rest. From it, Geralt pulled a polished wooden toy carved in the shape of a V--the form of it sensual and suggestive. One end was longer and thicker, designed with a particular bulge and curve, while the other was shorter with a flared nub. At the gentle apex of the V, several long, black leather ties had been attached.

Geralt's gaze went hungry. "What is this?" he asked lightly. 

Jaskier suppressed a smirk. Even if Geralt didn't know what it was, he knew _exactly_ where it went. "It massages your prostate."

"And how does it manage that?"

Jaskier brushed his fingers down the length of wood. "The thick end goes inside you, and the smaller end will press just behind your balls. The ties here go under the exposed length of it, then around your cock and sac, and then around your arse and waist, to keep it in. You're not the only one who likes the look of their lover _gift-wrapped_."

"Mmm. And how are you supposed to fuck me with this in?"

"Oh, I'm not. This little thing is going to help get you ready for me."

"Not _so_ little," Geralt noted.

"The merchant had smaller ones, but since you told me you'd at least fingered yourself before, I figured a more advanced size wasn't _too_ presumptuous. Was I wrong?"

Geralt hesitated.

Jaskier's breath caught. If the _toy_ was too big, then Jaskier...

Geralt gave him a sly smirk.

 _Damn him_.

The witcher was _trying_ to make his bard sweat.

" _No_ ," Geralt said eventually. "You weren't wrong." 

"Good. Do you...do you want to play with it?"

"Right now?"

"Yes," Jaskier said, voice breathy, "I want you to wear it while you wash dishes. While I'm performing." He returned both hands to Geralt's arse. "I want you to feel it every time you move and think about how much better it'll be once it's me. Once it's my cock filling you up."

Geralt groaned.

Jaskier smiled. "You're not the only one who knows how to tease and torture."

"You are a fucking bastard, aren't you?"

"Only in the very best way. So do you...do you want to?"

" _Yes_."

Jaskier could hardly contain himself. "Take off your pants," he gasped. "Then get back in my lap."

The witcher scrambled to comply.

Geralt had already stowed his boots at some point--perhaps after Jaskier had fallen asleep--and now his trousers came down easily, swiftly kicked to the side. He simply stood for a moment, in nothing but his thin black shirt, medallion, and hair tie--his thick thighs on display, the tip of his semi-hard cock just visible beneath the long hem.

If Jaskier had been a younger man, he would have come in trousers.

He wanted to say something. To praise Geralt. His mind, his body, his heart. But all of Jaskier's pretty words had suddenly fled, so he reached out. Geralt took his hand, let Jaskier tug him closer.

Geralt moved to straddle him again, to comply with Jaskier's request that he return to his lap, but Jaskier stopped him. "Not yet," he whispered, voice heavy with adoration. "Turn around."

Dipping his head as though embarrassed, Geralt turned around, standing between Jaskier's splayed legs. 

Now his absolutely perfect arse was right in Jaskier's face, and the bard found his fingers trembling as he stroked one luscious curve.

Geralt's breath _hitched_ , and his backside _clenched_ , and Jaskier was fucking _lost_.

Moaning, he leaned forward, scraping his teeth down Geralt's supple flesh, following the same tract as his fingers. The witcher still smelled like the jasmine soap, with undertones of leather and a smokiness that was all Geralt's own.

An impulsive, overwhelming need to taste his very center rippled through Jaskier.

The bard was desperate for it. Would surely die without it.

He roughly thumbed Geralt's cheeks apart. Leaning in, he buried his face against Geralt's bottom, and, with a sigh of contentment, _licked_.

Just a quick swipe of the flat of his tongue.

Right over the rosy pucker of Geralt's entrance.

A strangled " _Ah,"_ left Geralt, and he bucked before throwing a hand back, tangling it in Jaskier's hair.

Jaskier's cock jumped. A warmth gathered between his legs.

"Do it again," Geralt growled.

 _Fuck_.

Jaskier did it again. Slower this time.

" _Again_ ," came another bestial entreaty.

So Jaskier did it again. And again, and again, and again--moaning and sucking and licking like the absolute little slut he knew himself to be. 

Geralt's legs trembled. He made breathy little whines--the likes of which Jaskier had never heard tumble from his witcher's lips before, and it spurred him on. 

He wanted more. Wanted to give Geralt more--wanted to make him whimper and mewl.

But he wouldn't penetrate Geralt without asking. 

He pulled back to speak, but Geralt's insistent hand in his hair pushed him back in.

Jaskier smiled, licked some more, wondering if anyone had ever done this to Geralt before. If he'd ever _let_ anyone. 

It was an absolute _travesty_ if he hadn't. For clearly, he loved it.

Jaskier rolled his head to the side, bit into Geralt's left cheek.

"Can I?" he asked. 

Geralt was breathing heavily. "Can you...what?" he panted.

"Can I fuck you...with my tongue?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second version of this chapter I've written. The first attempt was from Geralt's POV and ended up very dark and very different and I decided that was simply not the tone or direction I wanted for the story. I even considered branching this fic into a choose-your-own-adventure--Angst or Fluff--but decided aint no one got time for that. ;-P


	13. Chapter 13

"Fuck. _Yes_ ," Geralt hissed through clenched teeth.

Jaskier's heart leapt. He turned back inward, ready to plunge his tongue in, to plunder Geralt's backside--

But then, confusingly, Geralt was pulling away, twisting around, bending--

Kissing Jaskier. Kissing Jaskier with his hands tangled in his hair, pulling their mouths tight against each other, moaning, gasping. His tongue slid between Jaskier's lips, and the bard keened. 

Gods. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck_. 

_On second thought, just sit on my dick_ , he thought. 

Jaskier could unlace his breaches and have Geralt ride his fucking cock right this instant. It would be so easy. They had so much fucking oil. He could slick himself to dripping and then simply order the witcher to _sit_.

And Geralt _would_. Ah, fuck, Geralt would fuck himself so good--would let out gorgeous grunts and whimpers as he tried to figure out what he enjoyed. As he used Jaskier's dick to experiment--because he'd never ridden a cock before and he wouldn't know how he liked it best. And Jaskier could sit here and let Geralt work himself, could admire him and praise him and--

 _Fuck_.

Jaskier broke the kiss with a gasp. "Turn around. Let me taste you. Let me eat you open."

He grabbed for Geralt's hips, tried to turn him, but his palm glanced against the head of Geralt's _very firm_ erection instead.

They both groaned.

"Let me," Jaskier said again, hardly believing how desperate he sounded. " _Let me, Geralt_."

Nodding, Geralt turned.

Jaskier clutched each cheek with a firm hand, fingers splayed wide, nails pressing in. Geralt's muscles were so well-defined, so taut, they provided just the right amount resistance. Jaskier had to grip little harder than he would on someone else, and his knuckles went a little whiter under the strain. 

His mouth watered at the sight of Geralt like this--spread in his hands, waiting.

But first, Jaskier had to know.

"Has anyone ever done this to you before? Have you ever allowed--? That is, _inside_ \--?"

Geralt shook his head. "Not a cock, not a tongue, not a toy, and no finger other than my own," he said gruffly.

Well, shit.

 _Just me. Only me_.

Jaskier _growled_. It was a long, pained sound--torn from deep in his chest.

He'd never been possessive, and that wasn't...

That wasn't what this feeling was.

Jaskier had had many lovers, and though most of the time his lovers had also had many lovers, he was always delighted when someone wanted him to be their first in some capacity.

But with Geralt, it was different. And not just because Jaskier was in love with him.

Because, Geralt...

Geralt who had been on the Path at least twice as long as Jaskier had been alive--

Geralt who so clearly _wanted_ to be fucked by someone or something other than his own hand but had never indulged--

Geralt who cared so little for his own comfort that he'd said _wherever,_ as though Jaskier would just take him for the first time in a barn, or back alley, or in a mud puddle someplace--

 _...That_ Geralt of Rivia--who rarely trusted anyone or anything and simply _endured_ the circumstances presented to him--was, good and truly, _trusting_ Jaskier to penetrate him.

Offering Jaskier his lovely bottom was about more than just handing over his body. And Jaskier understood that.

 _Only me. Just me_.

 _With this, he trusts only me_.

Jaskier smiled to himself and clamped down on his urge to speak. He couldn't very well tell Geralt he was _honored_ to be rimming him--even if it was true. It would embarrass Geralt, and Geralt's embarrassment often manifested as gruff irritation. Jaskier wanted him at ease and unselfconscious.

It was a time for action instead of words.

Jaskier dipped the tip of his tongue between Geralt's cheeks, letting it slither forward to press insistently at Geralt's opening.

He entered him slowly, adoring how much he had to _push_ to breach that ring of muscle.

And Geralt's little cry of pleasure made everything that much more delicious.

The Witcher's thighs trembled, and he fisted the hem of his own shirt, tugging it, bunching it--clearly needing something to hold onto as Jaskier worked him.

Jaskier slid his nimble tongue inside Geralt's arse just as he would the witcher's mouth. Licking, gliding, searching. He let himself make all the obscene sounds he wanted, whether it was a sigh or a slurp. 

Because, oh, there were so many things he wished he could say while he lapped and sucked at Geralt's perfect arse:

_Like that, Geralt? Is that what you want?_

_Does that feel good?_

_Gods, I want to make you feel good_.

 _You spend so much time_ bearing, tolerating, suffering _through things. You deserve to feel good._

 _So, so good_.

Blindly, he reached up between Geralt's legs until he felt the witcher's cock smack against his fingers. He gripped it tightly, felt Geralt's heartbeat thumping thorough it. With every press of his tongue inside Geralt, he twisted and stroked with his hand.

"Jas--Jaskier--"

The bard hummed. He'd never get tired of hearing Geralt say his name like that. All broken and needy.

"Jas... If you... If you keep--"

Jaskier plunged his tongue particularly deep.

Geralt jerked forward, gasped. "I'm going...going to..."

Jaskier thumbed at the head of Geralt's thick cock.

" _Ngh_... _Jaskier_...not _yet_."

Jaskier released Geralt's cock, but didn't cease his ministrations. He couldn't get enough of him. Of being this close to him, of tasting him. Of feeling him firm against his cheeks and chin, tight and hot around his tongue. 

Gods, he was so fucking _tight_ on his gods-damned _tongue_.

Almost seemed a shame to loosen him up.

Almost.

Finally, he pulled back with a smack of his lips, petted the pad of his thumb over Geralt's wet entrance.

"Figures," Geralt bit out. "All all your best talents lie in your tongue. Comes from working it non-stop, I suppose."

Jaskier laughed lightly. "My fingers aren't half bad, either."

Geralt glanced at him over his shoulder, face flushed. "Care to demonstrate?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this wouldn't be nearly as long as Just Add Some Friction. Now I fear it will be longer. Guess that's what happens when the first in a series is 99% PWP and the second is only 95% PWP.
> 
> *scream emoji*


	14. Chapter 14

Jaskier gave Geralt a sly, lopsided smirk. "Back in my lap, then, witcher. We'll get you stretched open for your present."

Geralt straddled him again, moving with less grace than usual, lips parted, gaze dazed. His entire body _shivered_ \--trembling in a way Jaskier typically associated with naïve milkmaids rather than mighty hunters.

"Was it _that_ good?" Jaskier asked, knowing full well the answer. He let his palms settle on Geralt's hips, thumbing at the V of his abdominal muscles. "You're quivering like a leaf."

"Witchers don't _quiver_ ," Geralt insisted, one hand spread against Jaskier's chest to steady himself, while the other encircled the base of his own cock.

"Well, you know who _does_ quiver?" Jaskier whispered, voice full of veneration. It was a jest, but Jaskier rather hoped his somber tone meant Geralt would be caught off guard by the punchline.

"Who?"

" _Virgins_ ," he breathed, digging his fingers tightly into Geralt's hips.

With a huff, Geralt ducked his head and looked to the side, as though he could hide from Jaskier's knowing grin behind the loose strands of his hair. "I'm-I'm _not_ a _virgin_ ," he said, clearly flustered.

 _Sure, yes_ , Jaskier silently agreed. And virginity was a nonsense societal construct anyway. But the very fact that Geralt felt the need to object to Jaskier's tease suggested that, perhaps, in this moment, Geralt _felt_ like a virgin nonetheless. 

All new and untouched.

"Mmm," Jaskier replied thoughtfully, making a show of furrowing his brow in seriousness. "Not a virgin. Yet here you are, blushing in a man's lap after he's tasted you for the first time. Here you are, _buzzing_ in anticipation of that first finger inside you."

"Jaskier..." Geralt grumbled.

The bard slid one hand around to dip between Geralt's naked cheeks, to pet at his sopping-wet entrance. "Just like a sweet virgin," he said with adoration. "A lovely untried treasure. Absolutely angelic of you, Geralt--this excitement and trepidation."

"Jaskier..."

"Beautiful, really. And all of it for me. You're such a precious, wonderful--"

" _Jaskier_ ," Geralt growled, head snapping up, hand leaping from where it rested on Jaskier's chest to press at this throat instead. 

Jaskier's breath caught and his cock jumped. His neck was still tender, but having Geralt's fingers wrapped around his windpipe would always be a thrill.

Geralt's eyes were dark, but not angry. Captivated, perhaps. Captivated and shy--yet the witcher was trying to make his stare hard and firm.

The grip on Jaskier's neck was a warning, not a threat. A warning that said Geralt was abashed and overwhelmed. One that said he could only tolerate so much sweetness--only so much of Jaskier treating him like he was a delicate, inexperienced little thing. 

He couldn't bear the endearments falling from Jaskier's talented tongue. 

Jaskier bit his lip, held back a pleased groan. Geralt was a building storm in his lap: a hot front of demand and vehemence meeting a cool front of shyness and vulnerability. 

Force met passivity.

Eagerness met hesitancy.

Depravity met innocence.

It was absolutely delectable.

It made Jaskier want to spill _more_ flatteries--more words of gentle affection--over his witcher. "It's hard not to say sweet things to you," he admitted.

"Say dirty things to me instead," Geralt bade, giving his own cock a firm stroke. His hold on Jaskier's neck loosened. He rubbed a soft circle into Jaskier's pulse point with his thumb.

"I thought you wanted romance."

"I thought you were in the mood to be crass."

"Oh, I can be crass. Which oil would you like? I'll give you all the vulgarities you want while you're riding my fingers."

"Hmm." Geralt considered for a moment. "Cedar."

"Wood for your wood! My wood? Our wood," Jaskier declared with a wink, reaching for the appropriate vial.

Geralt rolled his eyes. "I asked for dirty, not ridiculous," he said.

"Yes, well, the vivacious vagueness of my vulgarities adds value to my verbalizations and, in a way, vindicates my reputation as a virtuoso of crude vernacular usage," Jaskier said smoothly, popping the cork.

Geralt blinked and shook his head. "What was _that_?"

"Alliteration," Jaskier said with a shrug, coating his fingers. "What? You accused me of being ridiculous. Why shouldn't I show you just how ridiculous I can be?"

"How are _you_ the man who's made cuckholds of half the nobles on the continent?"

"Asks the big, bad witcher begging me to fuck him in the arse for the first time."

Geralt glared.

Jaskier smiled all the broader, setting the vial aside and subtly shifting his newly-oiled hand so as not to draw attention to it. He eased it around Geralt's hip without touching, holding the witchers eyes as he explained, "Good humor goes a long way toward ingratiating one into another's bed. Many of the fairer sex--well, all sexes, really--realize that a man who cares enough to find out what makes them _laugh_ will also care enough to find out what makes them--"

He thrust his slippery fingers into the cleft of Geralt's backside in one swift, sudden stroke--landing firmly at Geralt's puckered entrance.

The witcher gasped, his back arched.

"-- _scream_ ," Jaskier finished with a smirk.

"Fuck," Geralt whispered.

"That's the idea," he said, swirling his fingers.

Geralt's hand tightened around Jaskier's throat once more. He leaned forward, not quite letting their mouths touch, hot breath rolling over Jaskier's lips. "Ask. Ask to fuck me with your fingers. Now."

"To think that I should have to ask for something so readily given," Jaskier said slowly, lips brushing feather-light across Geralt's as he spoke. His fingers continued to massage Geralt's opening.

"You're going to be late for your performance, bard, if you don't slick me up soon," Geralt gritted out.

"Great performances never start on time," Jaskier said languidly, drawing out every syllable, trying to stretch time itself.

"Ask me," Geralt commanded, rocking back against the two fingers circling him.

"What if I like holding you here, on the edge? You said you like the edge."

"Ask me."

"Would that I could keep you here forever like this," Jaskier mused. "Everything about you thrumming, needy, gorgeous. Hard and smelling of sex--"

" _Ask me_."

"Geralt," he whispered, "can I--?"

"-- _Yes_ ," Geralt barked before Jaskier could finish his request. He crushed his mouth to Jaskier's, fingers digging into the side of his neck, hips working, pushing, _demanding_. He thrust back and forth, searching. 

He didn't have to wait long to find what he was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs wickedly*


	15. Chapter 15

Jaskier shifted his arm when Geralt rolled his hips forward and upwards, so that instead of reaching over and around Geralt's backside, he was reaching up, under his thigh.

It was easier that way to use the witcher's own desperate grinding against him.

Well, not _against_ him.

As Geralt bore down and back, Jaskier thrust _up_.

His middle finger sank swiftly into Geralt's wet heat.

Geralt pushed himself back on it eagerly--two knuckles deep on the first slide--startling only after it had breached him. Freezing, he made a sound like he'd been injured. His eyes fluttered shut and he clenched his teeth.

But Jaskier knew he wasn't in pain.

Gods, he was so tight and slick. And his face--the way he furrowed his brow with his eyes screwed shut in pleasure...

With his free hand, Jaskier rubbed gently at Geralt's flank. "How does it f--?"

" _More_ ," Geralt growled.

Jaskier chuckled. " _Greedy_ wolf. If you want more, take more."

Geralt pushed himself down the rest of the way, until Jaskier's finger was fully seated inside him.

The urge to use words like _sumptuous_ , _ravishing_ , and _exquisite_ came over Jaskier again. 

But Geralt wanted dirty. Wanted the vulgar and profane.

Not _profound_.

Yet, Jaskier could allow himself a moment to bask in Geralt's resplendence. To say in his head what Geralt couldn't stand to hear out loud. 

_You are so beautiful. Like this, yes--half naked in my lap, letting me touch you in your most intimate of places--but also...all the time. I don't think you have any clue just how absolutely breathtaking you are._

_You're beautiful in the bath, when you relax back and all of your scars are on display._

_You're beautiful in your armor._

_You're beautiful when you draw your sword._

_And you're beautiful when you tack Roach, and when you make camp._

_You're even beautiful covered in blood and monster guts._

_But you're most beautiful when you smile at a child, or pick a flower, or look at me with soft eyes_...

Jaskier couldn't help but lean in to kiss him again--hoping to see, to see that _look_... Geralt made a muffled _mph_ as their mouths met, but still did not open his eyes. Jaskier broke the kiss, then planted another delicate one at the corner of Geralt's mouth.

Geralt's breathing was shallow, body rigid. Clearly all of his focus was on the digit inside him.

Jaskier knew his fingers were very unlike Geralt's. They weren't thick, and they couldn't crush an earthenware mug or snap someone's neck. 

But they were _long_ , and _dexterous_. Well accustomed to plucking the right chords.

He fancied he could make any instrument sing, if given the chance to learn to play it.

Now it was time to learn to play _Geralt_.

He crooked his nestled finger forward, slid the pad of it back and forth. Seeking, searching.

Geralt bit his lip.

"Are you alright?" Jaskier asked gently.

"S'good," he mumbled. "Jaskier..." He dropped his forehead to Jaskier's shoulder.

The bard pulled his first finger out, then slid back in with two.

Geralt let out a sharp cry.

Jaskier delved forward again, twisting. His free hand went to the back of Geralt's head, fingers lightly stroking through his hair.

A gentle rumble in Geralt's chest let him know when he'd found what he was looking for.

"There?" Jaskier whispered.

Geralt nodded against his shoulder.

Jaskier pushed more firmly, circling, stroking. Focused more on massaging Geralt's prostate than stretching him for the toy.

Soon Geralt was panting hard, and he had a death-grip on his reddened cock. He rocked against Jaskier's hand, fucking himself on Jaskier's fingers.

Time for the dirty talk. 

Jaskier turned to whisper against Geralt's ear. "You're so fucking greedy for my touch, aren't you? Whatever I'll give you. You want to be fucked so badly. Look at you, taking my fingers. Not even letting me do all the work, just taking what you need."

Gearlt ground his hips down.

"How can you be so, so hungry for it?" Jaskier asked, voice low and silky. "Is it because you've been starving yourself of it? Denying yourself. Waiting. Waiting for someone to come along who could fuck you just right. But is that it, really? Or have you been holding yourself back, because you know what will happen once you've had a cock good and proper?"

"What?" Geralt breathed, hips rolling.

"I think you've known all along, deep down. Once you have a cock, you'll always want to be full. Secretly, you're just a fucking cockwhore, aren't you? Should have guessed, what with the way you swallowed my dick and drank my seed. So fucking thirsty for a cock to spill down your throat. Now so ready for one to spill in your arse."

Geralt whimpered, thrusting back, _hard_ , against Jaskier's hand.

"Am I even going to be enough for you after this?" Jaskier asked. "Or are we going to have to find new dick for you to take in every village we visit? Maybe we put you on offer, line up all the prospects. You'd have your pick; I hope you know that. Who wouldn't want to fuck this arse? Even those with cunts would be queuing up to peg you."

Geralt purred, and Jaskier took that as his cue to add a third finger. Geralt bucked and gasped, but kept his face hidden.

"We could get your hungry hole filled from dawn to dusk," Jaskier continued. "But only the best for my witcher. Wouldn't let anyone unworthy so much as touch you. Maybe I'd have to try them all out first, make sure they're good enough for you."

Geralt turned his face from Jaskier's shoulder to his neck, mouth opening, teeth scraping.

"You could trust me to find you good dick," Jaskier said. "You could supervise--watch me get fucked by a whole town's worth of men and then--"

Teeth clamped down _hard_ over his throat, surprising Jaskier. He gasped. An animalistic growl from Geralt followed.

Geralt kept rutting, kept thrusting down--that growl _building_ , growing, as his teeth sank deeper into Jaskier's flesh and held firm.

Pleasure drummed through Jaskier's groin, and he lost his train of thought.

There were _teeth_ in his neck and a _witcher_ rutting in his lap, and the smell of cedar mixed with _musk_ and _spit_ and Jaskier couldn't help but _groan_ wantonly.

He bucked his own hips, the inseam of his trousers suddenly too much and not enough against the hot length of his prick.

When Geralt released Jaskier's throat, he whispered something so soft that the bard couldn't make it out.

"What?" Jaskier breathed, feeling light headed. "Geralt?"

He whispered it again, as though he couldn't bring himself to say it louder. 

"Geralt? I can't...?" Jaskier prompted.

" _No_ ," he rumbled. "I don't want a whole town's worth of men to...to... _I don’t want a whole town's worth of men_. Just you. Just your cock and no one else's." He leaned up, captured Jaskier's lips. "Just you," he whispered between kisses. "Just you. Just you. Please, Jaskier, just you."

He said it desperately, like there was already a whole host of people outside their door, waiting.

Jaskier cupped his jaw, tried to gentle him. "It's just a fantasy," he reassured him. "I just wanted to tease you, Geralt. You said to talk dirty, I thought--"

Geralt kissed him hard again. 

Jaskier had said something wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. Couldn't figure out why Geralt was acting...acting like he had last night, in a way. Like he was afraid Jaskier would slip through his fingers.

" _Please_ ," Geralt said again when he pulled back, _begging_. His body still worked itself against Jaskier's hand, still sought all the pleasure Jaskier wanted to give him.

"No one but me," Jaskier said, voice breathy. "Just me. Only me. I would never let anyone touch you if you didn't want them to, Geralt."

The witcher hid his face in the crook of Jaskier's neck again, and Jaskier wrapped his arm over his back. He didn't understand why what he'd said had affected Geralt like this. 

"Just me," he cooed.


	16. Chapter 16

Perhaps his witcher was simply overwhelmed. This was a lot of newness in one day. Geralt had been absolutely _inundated_ with _new_. 

These sensations were new. 

These feelings were new. 

These words were new.

 _They_ were new.

"Look," Jaskier said frankly, "If the toy is going to be too much, you don't have to--"

Geralt sat up, and Jaskier let his arm slide from Geralt's back to his waist. 

"No. No, I want it." He pressed back onto Jaskier's three fingers, demonstrating exactly _how much_ he wanted it.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," Geralt insisted. "And I want...I want you...to..."

"What? Want me to what?"

Geralt swallowed thickly, leaned his forehead against Jaskier's. "I just want you."

"You have me," Jaskier said with a little laugh. 

Geralt leaned up, ran his thumb over Jaskier's chin, looked into his eyes. "Do I?" he whispered.

"Of course."

"No one ever gets to keep you, Jaskier. No one."

Jaskier furrowed his brow. "What does that mean? Geralt--?"

But then Geralt was pushing him into the chaise, kissing him deeply, covering him with his body, putting all of his weight on him. Pressing their chests together, their straining cocks. His hands threaded together at the back of the bard's neck, holding him tightly, keeping him still.

The witcher made a frantic, needy sound and fucked himself more firmly on Jaskier's fingers. His mouth was hot and demanding, and his body was insistent--the weight of it a command. 

A command for Jaskier to _stay_.

Jaskier's bruises throbbed beneath the pressure, but it was a good ache.

"Forget about the performance," Geralt growled against his lips, hips still working. "Don't go. Forget about playing tonight and be with me."

Jaskier laughed again, but this time it was edged with uncertainty. This felt...it didn't feel like a game. Didn't feel like Geralt was simply trying to tease and tempt him. Still, he tried to keep his tone light. "After we went through the trouble of weaseling our way into these luxurious accommodations, you want to throw it all away? We'll be kicked out for sure."

" _I don't care_. I need you."

"Geralt--"

"Don't go. We don't have to go. Stay here with me."

"What's gotten into you?" 

"Stay. _Stay_."

Geralt sounded so desperate--but not desperate with eagerness. There was a _wretchedness_ underlying his demands. It worried Jaskier.

"Geralt, we're not even leaving the inn. And there's no rush--it's not like it's now or never. I'm still not quite in top shape, and you--"

" _Shit_." The witcher froze, did a double-take, seemed to remember himself. He sprang up, pulling his weight off Jaskier as quickly as possible. He tried to stand, even with Jaskier's three fingers still inside him.

Jaskier hurriedly wrapped his arm tighter around Geralt's waist. "Where are you going?"

"You--your bruises. Your _throat_. I bit you-- _again_. And your poor _arse_. Fuck. I shouldn't have crawled on top of you like--"

"I'm fine. Geralt, I'm fine. Really. I wouldn't have invited you into my lap in the first place if I wasn't feeling worlds better. Those witcher salves really are something. Unless, of course, it was the cock warming meditation that did it. Witchers don't have magical tongues, do they? Have you been holding out on the rejuvenating effects of your spittle? Should we be bottling the stuff?"

His good humor seemed to ease Geralt, but only a little. The witcher stopped trying to scurry out of his lap, at the very least.

"Jaskier..." he said apologetically.

"Geralt," the bard countered flatly. "I don't know what it is, but you've been thinking too hard about something. Out with it."

Geralt wouldn't look at him. "It's nothing." 

"It's never 'nothing' with you," he replied, trying to be cheeky--echoing Geralt's own words back to him--trying to find their shared levity once more. 

After a moment, Geralt composed himself, took a deep breath. "You're right, we can't just bar the door and stay," he said evenly. "Finish stretching me, before we're too late and your madame comes looking for us." He pecked Jaskier lightly on the lips. "I want to wear my present while you perform. I do."

"Why won't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he insisted. "If anything, it's..."

Jaskier raised his eyebrows in question when Geralt didn't continue. " _What_?"

"Too perfect," Geralt said softly. "You, here. Like _this_. With me."

"Oh, Geralt--" He could understand that. This _was_ perfect, _they_ were perfect, and it was a shame--a complete travesty--to interrupt that perfection.

"I don't want it to end," Geralt admitted.

"My dear witcher," Jaskier said, spreading his three fingers wide inside Geralt, earning himself a gasp. "We're just getting started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief update today, additional update tomorrow!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised.

Jaskier allowed Geralt to ride his hand for a few minutes more before telling him to get up and bend over. Geralt did as he was told, bracing his hands on the arms of the velvet chair and spreading his legs, presenting his perfect arse so that Jaskier could have easy access.

The bard grabbed the toy and slicked the thick end with the cedar scented oil, caressing the swell of the wood, imagining how it would in turn caress Geralt from the inside. The long ties dangled nearly to the floor; to keep them out of the way, Jaskier wrapped them around his forearm as he positioned himself behind the witcher.

 _What must it be like, for Geralt right now?_ Jaskier wondered. _So open, so vulnerable_. Sure, he'd been naked and exposed around Jaskier on the regular for nigh over a decade--but still, there was no denying this kind of exposure was unprecedented. And for a _witcher_ to allow himself to be bent over and revealed like this...

His instincts had to be _roaring_ against his actions. 

With the toy in his right hand, Jaskier gently caressed Geralt's left flank with the other--dragging his fingertips over the soft skin, letting himself feel the swell of muscle and apricate its firmness.

And between the shapely halves of Geralt's bottom, that soft, pink pucker cried out for attention.

It needed to be lavished with adoration. 

To be stroked and spread and _filled_.

Jaskier poured more of the oil onto the base of Geralt's spine, watching it dibble down his cleft and over his entrance. A tiny bit slid all the way to his balls.

Jaskier's cock was heavy with want between his legs. Fever-hot and pulsing. Trapped in his trousers now, but so easily freed if he gave himself permission to free it.

Gods, Geralt would feel amazing around his prick--and under his hands, and tight against his hips. To have all of that strength and solidity bend and give beneath Jaskier's ministrations--

"Do you know how difficult it is not to whip my cock out right now?" Jaskier asked. "You are ready and open and willing and it would be so easy..."

"Ask and it's yours," Geralt said.

Jaskier bit his lip.

Geralt glanced over his shoulder. "Ask and I'm yours, bard."

Jaskier's grip on the toy tightened. 

_I will not take him impulsively_ , he said to himself. _I will not. I will not_.

"I want your first time to _last_ ," he said. "With no interruptions. We simply don't have the time." 

"Enough for a quickie."

"I'm not taking your virginity with a 'quickie.'"

"I am _not_ a-- _ah_."

Jaskier slid three fingers into him again. Geralt needed filling, and the longer Jaskier stood here staring at his empty hole, the more difficult it became not to stuff him full of cock.

" _Fuck_ ," Geralt swore.

"Are you stretched well enough?" Jaskier asked. "Do you need more time? Another finger? Or are you ready for your present?"

"I've never been on this end of the preparation before, so you're going to have to tell me. Can I take what you want to give me?"

"Oh, you _can_ ," Jaskier assured him. "But how much of a stretch-and-burn are you up for?"

"Gonna assume it's like a shot of gin--not worth it if it doesn't burn on the way down."

"You and I like our shots very differently," Jaskier said, amused.

"Dunno, pretty sure you liked how I gave it to you last night. Can't tell me there was no burn there."

"I would not deign to compare last night to something as simple as two fingers of hard spirits at the bottom of a dirty glass."

"I'm not sure which part of that sentence begs the most for a joke--two fingers, hard spirits, or dirty bottom."

"See, I'm not the only one who knows how to pun their way between someone's legs, now am I?"

"If I'd known jesting turns you on, I would have pulled out a few more knock-knock jokes over the years."

"I don't believe those are the kinds of groans you want to hear from me right now."

"You're awfully insolent for someone three fingers deep in a witcher's arse."

"I have a feeling my particular brand of insolence is the only way someone ends up three fingers deep in a witcher's arse."

"Touché."

"Now--" Jaskier curled himself over Geralt's back, kissed between his shoulder blades. "Can I slip our toy inside you?"

Geralt purred. "I like that word."

"Which word?"

" _Our_."

"Mmm. I need an answer, though."

"Yes. Yes, _now_."

Jaskier swiftly retrieved his fingers and replaced them with the rounded head of the massager, holding it at Geralt's entrance with the slightest bit of pressure. "You won't be able to sit with this in."

"Won't be a problem. Used to being on my feet all day."

"Believe me, this will be _very_ different. Just remember, when it's in and you move a certain way and it hits you _just so_ , lean forward, brace yourself on a wall or whatever--don't sit."

"I--"

"I know, I know," Jaskier interrupted him, putting more force against Geralt's entrance. "Witchers have magnificent bodily control and you can't _possibly_ imagine being hit with a pleasurable sensation that makes you lose your footing, but I assure you, your mutagens do not make you immune to weak knees. Especially since _this_ is a pleasure dropped on we mere mortals from on high, a pleasure only the few and adventurous have ever experienced, the sort of pleasure that they whisper about in the halls of--"

" _Jaskier_."

The bard sighed. "You're going to twist or something and it will quite unexpectedly feel really fucking good."

"Thanks for the warn-- _ah_ \--"

Jaskier smirked as he eased the tip of the toy past the resistance of Geralt's entrance. _Sudden penetration_ was quickly becoming one of Jaskier's favorite non sequiturs.

The bard leaned back so that he could take in the view as the wood sank into Geralt. The curve of it started narrow and then flared, and as he pressed forward and Geralt began to accept the wider portion, the witcher's shoulders tensed.

"Good?" Jaskier asked.

"Good," Geralt gasped. 

Every muscle in his body tightened and flexed and he rolled his neck.

Jaskier resisted the urge to ask for more words. He wanted details: _how_ was it good? _What_ did it feel like? Better than the fingers? Just different? Was he adjusting alright? Did he need Jaskier to go slower? Faster?

Geralt's breathing was unnaturally even, and he held himself firmly. He was concentrating, letting himself simply _feel_ , and Jaskier didn't want to pull him out of that by making him find words for the sensations when the words didn't come to him naturally.

But, _fuck_ \--the way the toy just slid in so smoothly. The way Geralt's rosy pucker just stretched and accepted and took what Jaskier wanted to give.

"I wish you could see yourself. So spread and wet and--" He pushed harder, and Geralt let out a whine like a needy pup.

Jaskier's balls _tightened_.

He froze and swallowed harshly. 

If he let himself, three strokes would do it. He could free his cock and three strokes would have him coming all over Geralt's backside and balls and the toy and--

Suddenly his hands were shaking. He made himself take a deep breath. 

"Don't stop," Geralt said, voice strained. "Why did you--?"

"I'm trying very hard not to ruin my last pair of trousers."

"Don't stop."

"I just need a moment."

"Don't _fucking_ stop."

Why were witchers so damn _impatient_?

Grunting, Geralt rocked his hips back--demanding, _taking_.

The toy sank in as far as it could go--halted only by Jaskier's knuckles.

Geralt's breath left him in a huff.

" _Gods above_ ," the bard swore. Jaskier grabbed his sac through his trousers, squeezed hard enough to be on the right side of painful. "Fuck-- _fuck_. I want to fuck you so, so badly."

"Say it again."

"I want--I want to fuck you. I want _you_ , Geralt. I'll say it a million times if you need to hear it-- _I want you_."

A deep rumble of appreciation reverberated through Geralt.

Steadying himself with another squeeze, Jaskier asked. "How--how is it?"

"Good. And, like I said," Geralt breathed. "Not so little."

"And if I do this?" Jaskier pressed down on the toy, trying for Geralt's prostate.

" _Ah_! Ah, _fuck_."

Jaskier smiled, though he still felt on-edge--teetering with potential. "Coin well spent, then."

The bard wasn't sure he could take much more of this. Whatever teasing Geralt had planned for him while he performed was sure to drive him mad.

 _One set. One set, at the very least. You can get through one shity set of songs without coming in your pants_.

_You can._

_You fucking_ have to.


	18. Chapter 18

With his fingers still shaking, Jaskier positioned the massager properly, so that the legs of the V hit their designated targets. Then he unwound the black straps from his forearm and tied them around Geralt, taking great care to twist them intricately about his cock and balls--to make sure they cradled his arse cheeks, and hugged his waist just right.

"Does it feel secure?" he asked, stepping away.

"Dunno," Geralt said, "Let me..." He tried to stand upright--and immediately slumped forward again with a strangled little sigh.

Jaskier placed a gentle palm on his back. "Are you--?"

" _Fuck_."

"Was that a _good_ fuck?"

Geralt bit his lip and nodded.

Jaskier didn't bother hiding his grin. "Come now, stand up properly. Let me see."

As though it were a great effort, Geralt heaved himself up. His breathing was labored and his brow furrowed. His cock stood gloriously erect and ruddy-colored between his legs, and the black ties were stark against his flushed skin.

Jaskier's breath caught.

Gods, his witcher was a vision.

"I'm going to need something to hide my...excitement," Geralt grumbled. "A dishwasher's linen apron is hardly going to cut it, and I can tell: I'm going to be hard all night."

"I can help with that."

"Oh?"

Jaskier reached for Geralt's cock, intending to give him a few blissful strokes, but Geralt swiftly stepped away, face serious. "None of that."

"Why not?" Jaskier pouted.

"The hair-trigger on my cock right now is worse than the one on my crossbow."

"Exactly: so let's fire away. If you come now, hiding your _excitement_ , as you put it, will prove much less of a problem." Jaskier moved once more to take Geralt in-hand.

But the witcher deftly danced around the bard.

"Come on, Geralt, technically I'm the only one here who's promised not to come. You're still free to change your mind about this edging nonsense."

"No. I told you, I want to wait."

"What's one little orgasm on the side? Besides, the only reason to make unnecessary rules for yourself is so that you can have fun breaking them."

"Is that why you bed so many married people?"

"Believe it or not, I rarely ask after anyone's marital status. Is it really my fault if they up and decide not to tell me?"

"Hmm," Geralt said skeptically, narrowing his gaze. "Still--the answer is no."

"Fine," Jaskier said with a melodramatic sigh, raising his hands in defeat. He scratched thoughtfully at the back of his head, casting his gaze about the room, trying to come up with a solution to Geralt's predicament.

But clearly Geralt already had something in mind. The witcher went to his pack and fished out a little-worn part of his leather armor. 

"Your codpiece?" Jaskier asked, trying not to laugh. "But you hate wearing it. You'd rather have your balls head-butted by a chort than put it on." Jaskier knew, because that was _precisely_ what had happened the last time he'd suggested Geralt strap in for a hunt.

"Don't think I have much of a choice tonight. The leather is stiff enough that it can hide--"

"--How stiff _you_ are?" Jaskier finished.

"Right. My cock already feels like it's caged, can't see how this will make much of a difference."

"Seems a shame to cover you up with _anything_ , really--smallclothes, trousers, codpiece."

"Can't imagine a half-naked dishwasher would be well-received."

"I've seen it before."

"Not the _bottom half_ , you haven't. Will you help me get my trousers on? I'm not sure I can manage."

"Nearly a century of slipping full armor on an off by yourself hasn't prepared you for the challenges of one little toy up your bum?"

Geralt glared. "There is a man in this room who can't seem to decide if he'd rather get fucked or murdered in this inn."

"One of these days we'll teach you how to make a joke that's not also a threat."

"I aim for efficiency. Are you going to help, or not?"

Jaskier grabbed Geralt's trousers and knelt at his feet, proffering one leg for him to step into. The bard did his level best to keep his eyes downcast and lip bit, so that he wouldn't slip up and kiss the absolutely magnificent prick scant inches from his face. 

Geralt smelled delectably mouthwatering to boot.

When the witcher had both feet in, Jaskier stood to yank the leather up over his hips, allowing himself to skim his thumbs along the sides of Geralt's legs as he went. "You better lace yourself, though," he said softly, stepping back as soon as he was upright. "If I tuck you in, I can't promise I'll be clinical about it."

With a hiss, Geralt palmed his own cock into place, the bulge making it difficult for him to secure his trousers. 

And he was right: the strain on the laces was exceedingly noticeable. They looked ready to pop at any moment.

"You know," Jaskier mused, "It might be time to admit that for a man who needs to do so much bending and stretching, you really do wear awfully tight trousers. Not that I'm even _remotely_ complaining. Just, maybe, be mindful of who's behind you if you have to bend over this evening. Your codpiece might have you covered in the front, but with the way your leathers stretch over your backside--it will be quite clear to even the casual observer that the stick up your arse is literal."

Huffing and shaking his head, Geralt secured the codpiece over his trousers. The bulge it naturally created wasn't _too_ obscene--even without the rest of the armor to temper its girthy appearance--and the black of it blended in seamlessly with the black of the rest of his clothes.

When he was done, he held out his hands, silently asking for Jaskier's appraisal.

"You look like a boring, proper, non-sex-game-playing would-be dishwasher," the bard provided. "No one will suspect a thing." Jaskier came closer, circling Geralt, running one finger along his chain as he did so, toying with the medallion once he stopped to stand before him. "No one will know you've got my present inside you, rubbing you in all the right ways. No one will know I've had my fingers up your arse and your dick on my tongue. No one will know you've spent all afternoon begging me to stick my cock in you."

Geralt gave him a small, knowing smile--the curl of his lip predatory--but didn't say anything.

"What?" Jaskier asked, feeling a bit like he was being left out of a joke.

"Nothing. I better take our dishes down. Still want your mint?"

"Of course. Give me a moment to wash my hands and I'll come with."

"Don't you need to warm up?"

"I can do that down--Oh. You need to go off ahead, don't you? You need to go do something alone again to get at me."

"Yes," Geralt said frankly.

"Well, you didn't spoil my surprise, far be it for me to spoil yours." He moved to turn away, to go to the wash basin to scrub the excess oil from his hands so he could pick up his lute without worry.

But Geralt stopped him, grabbed him fully by the chin, fingertips digging into the meat of his cheeks. The witcher forced the bard to look him square in the eye.

Jaskier's own eyes widened suddenly in surprise. A shiver ran through him. Every time Geralt's touch turned firm and commanding, something inside him turned to jelly. 

Geralt's gaze was dark, and his voice darker. "While you're on stage tonight, you sing for me. Not them, me." It was an order, not a request.

Jaskier licked his lips. "Thought you didn't like my singing," he said softly.

"Never said that. That's just how you took it."

Jaskier raised a defiant eyebrow. "Explain. How else was I supposed to take it?"

"Alright, maybe in the moment that _was_ how I wanted you to take it, but...remember what I said, about watching you play in Cintra? About my monster, about everyone's eyes on you...?"

"Yes," he whispered.

 _It enraged your monster. Made you want to hurt me and claim me and push me in a dark corner and take your pleasure from me_.

 _It made you_ \--

"When you sing, when other people watch you and want you..." Geralt leaned in close to Jaskier's ear. "It's like ordering a pie, and finding it has no filling, _because everyone else has already had a bite_." He nosed at Jaskier's neck. "When _the pie_ should have just been mine. All mine."

\-- _It made you_ possessive.

"Even if you can't fuck me yet, there's one good thing about having pounded your arse until you're black and blue," Geralt said, mouthing at Jaskier's neck--at the fresh bite he'd left only minutes ago. "At least I know _no one else_ will be pounding it for a while. Means you're mine right now. Means I don't have to share." He pulled back to stare into Jaskier's eyes and released Jaskier's chin in favor of running his fingers through his hair. "I don't want to share, Jaskier," he growled. "Not your voice, not your words, not your smiles, not your body. I want you all to myself. I want to lock the door and never let you out of my sight again."

Jaskier felt like he couldn't breathe. His face was hot, his heart stuttered.

"Fuck. Geralt. You can't..." He lowered his eyes. "You can't say things like that to me."

"Why not?" Geralt rumbled. 

_Because it makes me want to be just yours_.

But he already promised he would make no such demands of Geralt.

And he wouldn't. 

He _couldn't_. 

He would not ask for fidelity and he would not pledge his fidelity. Because even if they tried, even if they swore a blood-oath...they would never survive that way. They were both wanderers, roamers. To try to promise monogamy would only get them hurt. Would only make them angry, resentful, and bitter in the end.

But still, the idea. The fantasy of it. Of belonging only to one another...

It was lovely to think about.

And it hurt to think about.

How could Geralt tease him with something both so sweet and so cruel? 

"You can't," he breathed. "You just can't."

 _Please don't tease me with this_. 

_Make it hurt, but not like this_.

 _We aren't for changing. We both know that_.

"Jaskier, I want--"

"I'll sing for you tonight, Geralt," he said quickly, swallowing harshly. "Because I _always_ sing for _someone_. Yes, I sing _in front_ of the masses, but the performance never feels right unless I pick one person to put on a show for. Someone to sing _to_. And when...when you're there, it's you. I always pick you." 

_Even in that first tavern in Posada, I picked you_.

He looked up, found Geralt's eyes, which had clearly never left his face. The witcher's expression was far too earnest.

"In the end, I _always_ pick you, Geralt."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where I admit I don't know how to write straight-up fluff. I am an angst-monger at heart.

Jaskier couldn't tell if what he'd said was right or wrong. He couldn't tell if the neediness in Geralt's eyes was from excitement or hurt. Couldn't tell if the way the witcher's hands now gripped his shoulders--all hot and hard--was due to exhilaration or offense.

And when Geralt turned him, shoving Jaskier's back into the door with enough force to make him hiss and bow his spine, he couldn't tell if the push was from over-enthusiasm or spite.

"Geralt--?"

But Geralt was capturing his mouth, shutting him up. The witcher delved deep with his tongue, and both of his hands came up to grip Jaskier around the throat. Jaskier couldn't tell if the tremors running through Geralt's fingers were angry or desirous.

Or both. 

Perhaps it was all wrapped up into one.

Jaskier hadn't sensed the monster with them all day. He'd seen Geralt struggling with himself, yes, but he hadn't seen him struggling _in that way_. But the beast was clearly here now.

Maybe just peeking at them, peering at them. But it was present. 

Geralt wanted him.

Wanted him roughly.

Wanted him violently.

Geralt's hands _squeezed_.

The witcher wrenched his mouth away from Jaskier's, growling. " _Fuck_ ," he spat at himself. "I should go. I have to go."

"You have to go," Jaskier agreed.

"I don't want to go," Geralt rumbled, pressing his forehead to Jaskier's. "What I want is to tie you up, lock you away. I want to make sure no one else lays eyes on you ever again. I want to take you somewhere no one would ever find you. Where nothing could disturb us. Kaer Morhen, maybe. I could keep you there like those bastard mages kept those princesses in their towers. I could keep you there forever and then you couldn't..."

"Couldn't what?"

"Couldn't wander away from me. It wouldn't matter if you...if you..."

 _Stop trailing off like that_ , Jaskier silently groused. " _If I what_?"

Geralt gritted his teeth, drew a deep breath. " _Nothing_ ," he gnashed out, pulling back. "Nothing."

Blinking rapidly, as though waking from a dream, Geralt released his bard's throat, the look on his face stunned, as though he had no idea how his hands had gotten there in the first place. "Nothing," he said again. "I have to go."

He turned away, scooping up the dishes--all except for the small plate with the mint. He claimed a couple of leaves for himself, crushing them between his teeth, but left the rest for Jaskier.

Jaskier noted the portion of uneaten pie still on Geralt's plate, and a small pang of guilt ran through his stomach.

The witcher shifted to face him again, clearly expecting him to move out of the way, to open the door and let him through.

But Jaskier kept his back plastered to the wood. "You can't leave me like this: wondering. What, Geralt? What are you worried I'll--?"

Geralt tossed his head. "It's _selfish_ , Jaskier. Everything I want from you is selfish."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said gently.

Geralt pursed his lips, looked at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I just wanted today to be fun for you. After last night, I didn't want you to have to worry about anything, but I'm...I'm so _fucking_..."

 _Gods help me if you say something stupid like_ _"broken" I will punch you in the face_. _I don't care if it breaks my hand_.

#

... _insecure_ , Geralt finished in his own head. 

That wasn't a word that was supposed to apply to witchers. Witchers didn't get _needy_ , they didn't get _insecure_ , they didn't get clingy or possessive or jealous or any of those other stupid, base, childish, _human_ states-of-being.

He couldn't say, _I'm worried you'll tire of me_. He couldn't say, _I'm worried one day you'll grow bored and leave me._ He couldn't say, _I'm worried that, in the end, I'll be just another conquest to you_.

Until today, he'd never allowed himself to worry about such things. Because how can you worry about losing something you don't have?

But now that Jaskier's affections were his, now that he'd tasted him, knew what it was like to be with him _in this way_ , he couldn't give it up. 

Was this how all those other people felt? All the others Jaskier had wooed? Did he make them feel special and desired and adored and then...and then after...

He didn't do it on purpose. Jaskier wasn't spiteful or cruel that way.

But he was fickle.

They both knew that.

 _I'm worried that after you have me, you won't want me anymore_.

#

"Geralt?" Jaskier prompted.

"Come on," Geralt said flatly, "Out of the way, bard."

"No, tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

"My thoughts are my own. Kiss me and open the door," Geralt said softly.

" _Geralt_ ," Jaskier said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but failing miserably.

"I said _kiss me_ , damnit," Geralt insisted. "We're playing games. Fun. Just...I just want this to be fun. The rest of it can come later."

"Only if you promise there _will_ be a later," Jaskier said. "That you won't keep sweeping whatever this is under the rug."

He could tell by the way Geralt's eyes darted that he didn't want to promise. He hoped Jaskier would just forget, or drop it. He didn't want to have to confront whatever it was.

Geralt said nothing, and Jaskier decided not to force it.

So he kissed him. Kissed him softly.

Kissed him lovingly. 

"Go," he bade him when he pulled away. "Go down stairs and start enacting your master plan to ruin me while I'm on stage."

"Torture, not ruin," Geralt said with a little smile.

"Oh, is that all?" Jaskier asked lightly, moving to the side, opening the door.

With one more kiss dropped on Jaskier's temple, Geralt left the room.

"I'll have you know I'm only giving you a fifteen minute head start, no more!" Jaskier called at his back.

"That's all I need," Geralt replied cheekily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally getting there. Do you remember the content warning about axii use from way back when? Yeah, the next chapter after that was supposed to be the performance. So, to reiterate: 
> 
> CW for next chapter: Mild axii use.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Light mind control

Jaskier washed his hands, chewed his mint, and tried not to think too hard about what was waiting for him below. 

Or what had Geralt so troubled.

He tuned his lute and ran a few scales and did his vocal warm ups and convinced himself that whatever Geralt was planning, it couldn't be that bad. After all, there would be a crowd of people and Jaskier would be the center of attention. And as much as Geralt pretended not to care what people thought of him, it wasn't like he'd go so far as to whip his dick out in front of a bunch of unsuspecting townspeople.

Jaskier combed his hair and pulled on his doublet, buttoning it all the way up to hide the new teeth marks in his neck before deciding, _You know what? Fuck it. Let them see_. He undid the top three, letting the bite, the finger-shaped bruises, and a thatch of chest hair show.

He was proud of these marks. He'd earned them. Years of pining after one stoic mutant and finally he had evidence that his devotion wasn't unrequited. Why would he hide it?

Humming, mumbling, and running scales, he paced the floor, trying to reason out exactly how long fifteen minutes was, seeing as how he didn't have an hour glass.

Eventually he decided he'd waited long enough, and, lute in-hand, opened the door with a deep breath--as though he was diving into the ocean instead of his usual gig.

He took the steps two at a time, feeling somehow simultaneously light and heavy.

When he made it to the ground floor, he was delighted to find the place absolutely packed. But he immediately noticed something odd about the crowd. 

Overall, it was remarkably...good looking.

In general, he found most humans and humanoids quite lovely--even those many people called monstrous--but it was as though someone had hand-picked the members of tonight's gathering largely based on how sexually attractive they were. Sexually attractive to _Jaskier_ , specifically.

 _Someone_ knew exactly what his tastes were. The men were tough-built, the women shapely, and many people were androgynous and appealing in a way that defied any sort of generic gender-sorting all together.

Everyone was clean, and clearly wore their best, and several he guessed were very wealthy, and, _dear gods_ , how had Geralt managed _this_?

Jaskier peered about, but didn't see Madame Kowalczyk anywhere. Perhaps she was in the kitchen, with Geralt. She was a master chef, after all.

The majority of the crowd had their backs to the staircase, turned instead towards the presently-empty stage. He noted couples who were kissing, and others who were flirting, and with this many attractive people in one place--most of them pleasantly plied with alcohol already--the air was practically fogged with lust.

 _You tell me you don't want to share me with anyone and then bring me a feast of beautiful people--what are you playing at, you bastard_?

Jaskier made his way to the bar and ordered a shot for good luck, as was his custom. He picked gin tonight, since... _well_.

The barmaid set a small glass before him and poured two fingers' worth of the cheap stuff, but he didn’t complain. It was on the house, after all. "Oh," she said, as soon as he touched the glass. "Your friend wanted me to tell you something."

Jaskier lifted his gin to his lips. "Yes?" He started to sip, started to throw it back--

The woman didn't even blink. "He wants to suck your dick while you're on stage."

Jaskier nearly got gin in his eye with the way he choked on it, spluttering. "Ex-excuse me?" he asked, once he'd recovered his breath.

She frowned at him, taking back his now-empty glass. "He said he'd _see you on stage_."

"Oh, yes, of course, that's what I thought you said." It was decidedly _not_ what he thought she'd said.

She walked away to serve the next patron without a care in the world. 

_Control yourself, man_ , he groused at himself. _And for heaven's sake,_ do not _picture him sucking your cock on stage_ while _you are on stage_.

Shit, Geralt had him wound tighter than he'd thought.

Trying to recover his wits, he pulled at the bottom of his doublet and turned away from the bar. If he could just start his set, then everything would be fine. He could sink into the music and all would be well.

But halfway to the small, raised platform, a man seated by himself at a table stopped him, grabbed him by the elbow.

"Can I help you?" Jaskier asked, trying not to sound indignant, looking pointedly at where the stranger clasped his sleeve.

The man had dark skin and dark eyes and beautiful curly hair that looked absolutely perfect for running one's fingers through, because of course he did. Had a blacksmith's look about him to boot. Toned forearms, broad shoulders.

"Your friend there." The man nodded to stage right, and Jaskier couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped him as his gaze followed the gesture.

Geralt _wasn't_ in the kitchen. He was in a small nook off the main dining area, separated from the platform by a whole two tables and a double-hung boerendeur door with the top half wide open. They'd be able to look directly at each other _all night_.

"What about him?" Jaskier asked the man absently.

"He said he'd bend over for you on one of these tables if you ask 'im."

Jaskier's gaze turned back to the man and his mouth hung open. "He _what_?"

The man's brow furrowed. "Said you should mind the tables--don't get up on one, they look rickety."

"I'll--I'll try to remember that."

What in Melitele's name was going on? Was he really so horny that his mind just insisted on inserting dirty words into strangers' mouths?

The man let go, and Jaskier tried not to swallow too harshly, despite how dry his mouth had gone.

He wasn't sure if he should approach Geralt or try to ignore him. Right now, the witcher had his sleeves rolled up past the elbow, hands thrust in a soapy wash basin. The hint of a linen apron was just visible over the closed bottom half of the door.

It didn't appear as though he'd seen Jaskier enter the room.

Jaskier turned, tried to make for the stage again, and nearly ran smack-dab into one of the androgynous patrons. Their ears were slightly pointed, their elvish heritage obvious.

"Your friend," the lovely person began, and Jaskier steeled himself.

Twice was a coincidence. The third time...

"Yes?" He prompted cautiously when they said nothing more.

"He said he wants to take you to Kaer Morhen this winter and plough you in front of the other wolves."

" _No_ ," Jaskier said disbelievingly.

"Yes," they said earnestly. "That's exactly what he said. He said the winters in Kaer Morhen are very bitter, and the fields become too difficult for the wolves to plough."

 _Son of a bitch_.

Jaskier bit his lip to hold back a groan.

He turned again, and there was a buxom woman, her breasts nearly spilling out of her top. "Your friend--"

And then he knew. This was it. _This_ was the torture.

Whenever he tried to take a step, there was a stunning person looking at him through their lashes, with wet lips and wide eyes, saying the dirtiest things about him and Geralt in the softest, filthiest voices.

"He said he would whip out his cock right now if you told him to."

"He said he's never had an arse as warm and tight as yours."

"He said he'd go to his knees for you while you play."

"He said your spend is his new favorite flavor."

"He said your toy is touching him in all the right places."

"He said he wants to know how you sing so sweetly with such a filthy tongue."

"He said he'd let you fuck him right in front of all of us, but you have to beg."

"He said--"

"He said..."

"He _said_ \--"

 _Fuck_! 

By the time Jaskier finally stumbled up onto the platform, his heart was racing, his palms were sweaty. He needed a tall glass of water--he could already tell his voice was going to crack on the first note.

Fucking _hells_.

And then he chanced a glance at Geralt.

The bastard was leaning out of the nook, arms propped on the bottom door, eyes locked on Jaskier, a smirk plastered to his lips.


	21. Chapter 21

Jaskier knew he couldn't let this go unanswered. He had to retaliate.

The crowd now looked at him casually and talked amongst themselves, clearly all blissfully unaware of anything untoward they'd said. It was just a fine evening out at a fine establishment with fine drinks and hopefully fine entertainment.

Geralt, however, still leered, all too pleased with himself.

And if the witcher wanted to play dirty, well, Jaskier could play dirty, too.

He would sing the sexiest fucking song imaginable for the bastard. One that would make him pant and sweat and crawl on the floor, _begging_ to be fucked by the end of the last chord.

There were a couple of tunes Jaskier never played in public because they were _too_ sensuous. Sure, there were plenty of jigs that were raunchy and saucy, but like a dirty limerick, those were designed to induce mild embarrassment in those with delicate sensibilities. They weren't supposed to be titillating, but amusing. They were designed to make one giggle at sex, not crave it.

But once in a while he was hired to perform for more... _intimate_ gatherings. And those required an entirely different kind of music than your common tavern crowd was prepared for.

If there was one thing he knew about the audience before him this evening, it certainly wasn't _common_.

Clearing his throat, he strummed once to garner attention, then found Geralt's eyes. He stared straight into them, so there would be no doubt as to who he was singing for.

The song he chose was in A minor, had dark undertones, and the newly-acquired roughness of his voice catered nicely to the melody's sensuality. The lyrics were about a man--the singer, the narrator--watching a young woman through a crack in a stone wall as she plundered strawberries from a garden that wasn't hers.

As the woman in the song ate the berries, the man in the song imagined tasting _her_.

Words like _lips_ and _wet_ and _red_ and _full_ and _blushed_ and _juices_ all had clear double meanings.

While he sang, Jaskier took note of the crowd out of the corner of his eye. Saw more kissing. Heard the occasional, unmistakable soft sigh of someone being touched between their legs.

But he never let his gaze leave Geralt's.

The witcher's smirk slowly slid off his face to be replaced with a smoldering heat. Subtly--still leaning on the door--he began to rock his hips in time with the music, and Jaskier knew the toy was in turn rocking inside him, gliding over his prostate. 

The song was long, nearly six minutes, and when he finished, the room was almost silent.

Jaskier finally looked away from Geralt and was startled to see half the crowd had followed his gaze.

They, too, were staring at the witcher.

The other half were looking at him with wide eyes.

But behind the crowd, movement caught Jaskier's eye. In a darkened back corner beneath the stairs were two women-- _intimately_ _entwined_. One with her skirts raised, revealing she wore no smallclothes, the other on her knees, unabashedly tasting the same kind of plush lips the man in the song had so longed for.

Jaskier couldn’t decide which to die of--arousal or embarrassment.

 _Well_ , he thought, _in for a copper, in for a crown_.

He'd spend the whole evening singing all the boudoir songs he knew.

#

By the time he was finished, one might have thought everyone in the room had imbibed a sex potion. The kissing was open, everywhere, and sloppy. The fingering was more subtle, but if Jaskier couldn't see someone's hands, he just assumed they were at the apex of thighs. 

Two more couples, in addition to the first two women, had taken to full-on fucking. They all thought they were being clever about it, didn't think anyone could tell. But Jaskier was a connoisseur of public sex and he knew the difference between how someone sat on a lap and how someone sat on a cock.

The bard felt quite proud of himself, actually.

But then he tried to leave the stage.

He was used to his tips being tossed at his feet... 

...not shoved down the hem of his breeches.

Hands came at him from all sides--tugging, teasing--as did lips, whispering promises, asking questions.

"Who gave you that bite? I bite too."

"Want to come home with me?"

"I know a few tricks you might like."

He tried fumbling through rejections, tried working his way to the stairs without pause, but there were too many offers, too many people.

Too many hands. On his shoulders, his waist, his chest.

And then a pair of particularly strong hands grasped both of his biceps from behind.

He knew those hands, damp as they were from dish washing.

He immediately he eased into the chest at his back.

"The bard's coming with me," Geralt growled.

"I'd fuck you too, white-hair!" a woman shouted from somewhere in the crowd.

Jaskier burst out laughing as Geralt dragged him away.

Hand-in-hand, they ran up the stairs, would-be bed partners still chasing them with promises and propositions.

When they reached the top floor, Geralt opened their door and bolted through. Jaskier slammed the door behind them, pressing his back to it once he'd set his lute aside, laughing like a madman.

"Oh gods, oh fuck," he giggled, "I think we're trapped." He was breathing hard and his face was flushed. 

"What in the hells was that?" Geralt asked, unable to hide his own amusement.

"That, my dear witcher, was one of the most exhilarating performance of my life."

Geralt crowded him against the door, kissed him swiftly. "I thought only magic could bewitch a crowd into a spontaneous orgy."

"Not bewitching, pure skill." Jaskier winked at him. "And that was hardly an orgy, come now."

"The way everyone was trying to get a piece of you after-- _shit_." Geralt fisted the front of his doublet, gave Jaskier a yank for good measure. "They way they were all _touching_ you," he growled, leaning in to mouth at Jaskier's neck.

"Music does strange things to people," Jaskier said with a little gasp. "I see even witchers aren't immune to song."

"If only I were immune to your charms," Geralt mumbled. "But it seems no one is. You can have anyone you want."

"And I do. Miracle of miracles, I have him."

Geralt purred into his neck, and Jaskier let out a contented sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When did this get so long oh jeez.
> 
> And on top of that, I know some of you have noticed, I kind of sort of also started another story. Why do I do this to myself?


	22. Chapter 22

"Before--before this goes too far--" Jaskier giggled again as Geralt's lips started to wander across his skin "--pull my boots off, would you?"

With a questioning eyebrow, Geralt leaned back, then dropped down and did as requested. Jaskier shook his legs, and coin after coin fell from the cuffs of his trousers.

"If only you could rile a crowd like that more often. Look at all this," Geralt said, upending the boots, pouring even more money onto the floor.

"All goes to our dear Madame," Jaskier reminded him.

"As it should," Geralt said, standing again.

Jaskier watched his face carefully as he moved. "Are you still hard?" He couldn't tell just by looking, the codpiece had done its job.

"Yes," Geralt admitted, licking his lips. "Even without the toy, I would be, what with you singing filthy songs to me in front of everyone."

"I had to get you back for all the naughty things you had those people say to me. Turning the townsfolk into your own little menagerie of talking puppets was a low-blow."

Geralt shrugged, pressed his hips into Jaskier's. "I've used axii for worse. The only one tormented by it tonight was _you_ , I swear. I promised them all food and fun if they came, and that's what they got. And they won't remember. Not that part, anyway. Everything after you started your set was entirely of their own free will and theirs to keep."

Jaskier kissed him, then lightly pushed him away so that he could undress. His doublet felt stifling--he was sweating all over, breathing hard. And, gods, he was tired. The downy mattress looked particularly enticing.

"Did you axii that woman in the shop as well?" he asked absently, dropping his doublet as he walked across the room to the bed. "To get her to come on to me?"

Geralt shot him a look. "What woman in what shop?" 

He followed Jaskier, untying his soiled apron and letting it drop to the floor. The codpiece and his boots soon fell after.

"When I was out buying your presents, there was a woman who came on to me--was quite forward, I might add." He hopped up on the bed, stretched out and propped himself up on one side, facing Geralt. "Unusual for broad daylight. Palmed me through my trousers like I was a common strumpet peddling it on the street, if you can believe it. Worse, even, than anyone in the crowd tonight dared."

"She groped you?" Geralt asked, eyes growing dark, face hard.

"Yes," Jaskier said sheepishly.

Geralt crawled onto the bed in a predatory fashion, body tight. " _That's_ what that _fucking smell_ was."

"Smell?"

" _Roses_ ," he spat.

"You could--? Oh. Oh, Geralt, is that what had you so--?"

Jaskier lifted one hand to brush a white strand of hair out of Geralt's eye, and the witcher caught his wrist in a manacle-like grip. "How _dare_ she touch you like that?" he growled.

A hot thrill trickled through Jaskier's belly. "Yes," he whispered back in agreement, "How dare she?"

Geralt crawled on top of him, forced him fully onto his back while he straddled his thighs. He pinned Jaskier's caught wrist to the bedding, and the witcher's free hand went to Jaskier's crotch.

Jaskier's dick _jumped_.

"Did she touch you like this?" Geralt demanded.

Jaskier bit his lip, reining in a moan. "Harder," he breathed. "She grabbed me harder."

Geralt's fingers _pressed_. "Like this?"

" _Yes_."

Geralt rumbled deep in his chest and leaned in close to Jaskier's ear. "Did you like it?" he purred.

"Yes," Jaskier admitted with a whine.

" _Slut_ ," Geralt spat in his ear. His tone was amused, but there was something dark coloring the edges of the word. The witcher's fingers clenched around Jaskier's cock, palming him roughly as he started to harden. "Did you enjoy all the attention tonight? Was the audience to your liking?"

" _Yes_ ," Jaskier admitted again.

Geralt nosed at the bolt of his jaw and breathed deeply. "Do you have any idea how you smell when you perform? How your scent intensifies, becomes sharp and sweet and cinnamony? Is it the music, or everyone's eyes on you, that makes you smell that way? Which do you like more, playing, or being adored while you play?"

"I--"

Geralt didn't even let him answer, cutting him off with an intense kiss as soon as he made a sound. 

"It's the attention," Geralt provided for him once he broke away. "It's the way they all love you, isn't it? And you'd fuck every last one of them if they'd let you, wouldn't you? It's a wonder you decided to become a bard instead of a whore. You'd be the richest one on all the Continent. And probably the happiest."

"You know, some people say there's very little difference between a bard and a whore," Jaskier quipped. "After all, we both spend a lot of time being very loud for often underappreciative audiences."

"There's one very big difference, though," Geralt said.

"What's that?"

"Whores don't like it when you kiss them," he said, demonstrating with a harsh slide of their lips. "Only sluts go in for that."

"You mean bards."

"Did I say bards? I meant sluts."

"Oh, you boorish--" 

Geralt cut him off with another kiss. A filthy kiss.

Jaskier hummed into his mouth, but tried to keep talking. "You like--mph--that I'm--ngh--a _slut_. That I get my dick wet when and where I please."

There was a long pause where Geralt simply kissed him harder. The kiss became crushing, bruising--almost _cruel_.

Jaskier gasped, rolled his head away. Slowly, he turned back, brought his gaze to Geralt's face.

The witcher stared at him--a dark expression had settled over his brow, steeling his jaw and pursing his lips.

"Don't you?" Jaskier asked tentatively, searching Geralt's eyes.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to have The Talk.

Geralt growled, and his face hardened further. The humor was gone, replaced with something leaden. He grabbed Jaskier's other wrist and pinned it up beside his head as well. His gaze was intense--searing in its heat. "You _are_ a fucking slut. Such a fucking slut," he grumbled. "You get your dick wet in the worst places, and then you come back to me smelling of other people--their scents clinging to you like slime. They smell like roses, and tanning oil, and baking spices, and it makes me...it _always_ makes me..."

"Always? Makes you what?"

" _It makes the monster stir_ ," he snarled. "Whenever you go off for a fuck and come back covered in someone else, it makes me want to bend you over and fuck their scent off you. Fuck it _out_ of you. Makes me want to _punish_ you."

Geralt surged forward, kissed him hard again, put bite into it-- _made it punishing_.

Jaskier whimpered under the onslaught. It was both tantalizing and worrisome, made his dick throb and his chest tighten.

With an angry, self-deprecating grunt, Geralt wrenched himself away again.

Jaskier tried to speak, but his breath caught in his throat as realized: Geralt's possessiveness wasn't a tease. It wasn't a game.

"You _really do_ want to keep me all to yourself? " he asked. "To lock me away? Do you want me to pledge myself to you?"

Geralt said nothing.

 _No_. Jaskier had been patient. Geralt couldn't clam up now.

"What do you want from me, Geralt?"

Geralt looked to the side, gritted his teeth. "What I want isn't fair, Jaskier. What I want doesn't even make _sense_."

"What do you mean? If it's monogamy you're after, lots of people think that makes sense. If you want me to stop bedding others--"

"That's not--"

"Tell me to stop," Jaskier said quickly. It didn't feel right, but the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could swallow them. "Tell me to stop and I'll stop. Tell me I can never touch anyone but you, and I'll...I'll swear to it, Geralt. If that's what it takes. If that's what you need."

There was a long pause, where both of them could hardly believe he'd said such a thing.

It made something in Jaskier's chest twist. It hurt in the wrong way, a bad way. Because he _knew,_ he'd seen how these kinds of promises could ruin things, beautiful things.

He knew what kind of person he was, how he flitted from flower to flower. He was open with his affections, fell just a little bit for everyone he met. If he had to hide that part of himself away, cage it--

Jaskier's face grew hot, heavy with worry. 

He immediately wanted to wrench the words back. 

Not everyone was built to have a one and only. _Neither_ of them were, he was certain. Trying to force their flames into tight little boxes would only end up stifling them, putting out their fire.

And they burned so brightly now.

He wished he hadn't said anything. He wished he hadn't told him he'd swear it.

Because if Geralt told him to swear, _he would swear_. If Geralt needed that to be with him, he couldn't risk what a denial might bring. Couldn't risk losing him so soon after...after everything.

And it would be the first tear. The first wound.

The first chain tied to a love that had, until now, been free.

They weren't with each other because they had to be. Because there was anything demanding it--not convention, or propriety, or political alliances, or family finances.

Gods help him, there wasn't even anything _convenient_ or _necessary_ or fuck-all _logical_ about their bond.

Jaskier's devotion to Geralt just _was_. Like the wind, or the sun, or the dust of a road. It was just there. Not because anything forced it. Not because it had been caught and bound.

 _No_ \--they couldn't do this to each other. They couldn't ask this. He'd seen too many love stories fall apart, crumble into nothing, turn to sour hatred, all because of some stupid notion that _to love_ meant one had to be resentful of all other loves.

It worked for some people, but it tortured so many others.

But if this was what Geralt thought he needed--

"What do you want from me?" he demanded again.

 _Gods, Geralt. You can hurt me all you want, but please, don't hurt_ us.

Geralt's face was uncertain above him. The witcher peered at him with heat and sorrow and confusion. "I don't want you to stop," Geralt said after a time.

"But you...you said..."

"Jaskier. _I don't want you to stop_."

"Truly? Or you don't want to ask it of me?"

"Both," Geralt said, tossing his head. "It's like everything else with you. I hate it, _and I want it_. If you stop slipping into stranger's beds then you'll stop smelling of them and I won't feel this way--jealous, angry. _Sick with it_." He clenched his teeth and breathed heavily through his nose. "But I don't just want to claim you...I want to _reclaim_ you. I don't just want you to be mine, I want you to go out and be disappointed that others _aren't me_. I want you to kiss a woman and then come back to me so I can kiss her off you. 

"Even before the potion--when I thought I could never bed you--when you'd seek another's pleasure in the evening but would still return to me to sleep-- _that_ feeling I wanted. Still want. _That_ feeling is... They could have you for a moment, but you chose me after. Chose me in the morning. Chose me the next day and the next.

"It's not the dalliances themselves that...that _scare_ me," he admitted. "But when you leave, when you go to someone else, I...I _need you_ to _come back_."

There was a brief pause as Jaskier put all the pieces together, slowly assembling Geralt's mixed emotions to form a picture--something he could comprehend. "Of course I'll come back," he said softly. "I always return to you, don't I?"

"Sometimes I'm afraid you won't. And now, after you've had me, will you--?"

"After I've had you? Why would that change anything?"

"We both know you get bored quickly. Rush from conquest to conquest. All these years you've had the thrill of the hunt with me, but prey never lasts long once it's caught. I've retained your attention through denial, and now--"

"Retained my--?"

 _You son of a bitch_.

Jaskier sat up, instantly angry. He threw off Geralt's hands, forced the witcher to sit back on his haunches--Geralt let himself be forced.

Here was Jaskier, twisting himself into knots over weighty things like _love_ and _devotion,_ and Geralt had the gall to sit there and accuse him of such _flippancy_.

" _Retained my attention?_ What, like you're some _mountain_ I've been dying to climb and once I've conquered you, I'm done with you? You think that bedding you has just been a _challenge_ for me? And when I get _bored_ \--" he spit the word at him-- "I'll drop you and be on to the next?"

Geralt wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Fuck you, witcher. You think I toss out _I love you_ lightly? You honestly believe I've stayed with you all this time because I wasn't allowed to bed you? That once I figured out how to make it happen, I'd be gone? The thought wouldn't have crossed your mind three days ago. You wouldn't have thought so little of me then, before you knew I wanted you this way."

"I don't--I don't think little of you," Geralt insisted. "I think little of... You would be _right_ to find someone better, Jaskier. Every tryst you have is a chance for you to pick someone else to spend your life with. I _don't_ think your confession was given lightly. But when you realize I can't in return give you everything you need... When I'm not enough--"

"Shut up. _Shut up_. You were enough before the potion. You are more than enough now. You've always been enough. I don't _need_ to bed you. I don't need anything more from you than what you've already given me all these years. You can tell me right now that you will never love me back, that I can never touch you again--and _mean it_ \--and I will still walk the Path with you tomorrow."

"Jaskier--"

"My love is not conditional, Geralt. There is no contract here for you to fulfil. I will not tire of you. You are my friend first, and _all I want is to be near you_. If there's one thing you must believe, it's that. Just that. 

"But, I need to know--and you _must_ be honest: do _you_ need my fidelity? I don’t want to do things that hurt you."

The silence burgeoned, stretched. Jaskier fought not to break it. If he wanted Geralt's honest answer, he had to give him time to formulate it. 

"No. I told you: I hate your dallying, but I want it--want to make you mine after. I'm just selfish and jealous and stupid. And I fear--like with your Countess, I was afraid..."

"You thought I wouldn't come back to you."

Geralt tilted his head in acknowledgment. "You were gone for months. And then she kicked you out and I thought I had you. That's why I got so angry when you wished for her with the djinn." He pursed his lips, clearly mad at himself. "It was selfish. If she made you happy, I should have been happy. After all, it wasn't...we weren't... I didn't even have a hope that we'd... And then after that--after hurting you because I'm a possessive monster--I went and _bedded another._ I--I--" Geralt cringed. " _I don't know why I get this way around you_. It's not fair to you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for all of it--"

"Shut up," Jaskier said again softly, grabbing Geralt by the back of his hair, pulling their foreheads together. "Just _shut up_. I told you last night, I'm not going to leave you. Not if you deny me things, and not if you give me things. But we can't be cruel to each other. We can't try to change each other. Not if...not if it's love, Geralt."

 _It_ is _love, isn't it, you stupid bastard?_

He knew it was. 

He'd thought that maybe Geralt's affections for him weren't the same type of affections he had for his witcher--but they were. 

Geralt was in love with him, he was certain.

Maybe he couldn't express it well, maybe he couldn't say it. 

But all that mattered was that he _felt_ it.

"I don't want you to change," Geralt rumbled. "And I don't know why you make me so insane. Drive me so mad."

 _Yes, you do_.

Jaskier fell back, pulled Geralt with him, twisted slightly so that they both hit the pillows facing each other. 

Geralt took Jaskier's hand, pressed it against his cheek, turned his head to whisper into his palm. "I don't want to make you stop. But what if I want it...sometimes? What if I want to keep you selfishly _sometimes_?"

Jaskier swallowed harshly. "Then keep me, sometimes _._ Say you don't want me in anyone else's bed for a week, a month, and we'll talk about it. Nothing has to be set in stone, we just have to agree to be honest with each other. If you need to keep me selfishly right now, Geralt, I can give that to you. I want to. I want you to feel safe in the knowledge that I'm _here_ , and I'm not going anywhere."

Geralt let out a shuddering breath that warmed Jaskier's hand from wrist to fingertips.

A long moment passed.

"Ask me," Geralt whispered softly against Jaskier's skin, the words heavy, his tone needy.

" _Geralt_ ," Jaskier said, just as quietly, trying to keep the regret from his voice. He could tell this _ask me_ was genuine, not a tease. A sudden swell of emotion had come over Geralt and he wanted them to be that close, now, to be joined, _now_. 

Jaskier wanted it, too. He did. He wanted it so much, but he couldn't give it. He was exhausted. They both were. "Not yet."

Geralt nodded in resignation, kissed Jaskier's palm, then guided it away, placed it flat against the bard's own chest, over his heart. "But be just mine...for now."

"Just yours," Jaskier agreed.

It had been such a long day. A long two days. Jaskier felt like he'd lived a lifetime in these last two days. "Sleep," he said to Geralt. "We should sleep. Do you want me to take the toy--?"

"I want to keep it in," he said, eyes fluttering closed. His expression had eased, softened over. 

Jaskier put his arm around him, tucked himself in close. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Will you be here with me, this time, when I wake?"

"Yes."

"Promise, witcher?"

"I promise, bard."


	24. Chapter 24

Jaskier awoke the next morning with a face full of soft, jasmine-scented white hair. He nestled into it, melted against the wide expanse of shoulders pressed into his chest. Geralt hummed pleasantly, but Jaskier couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake.

He had his arm wrapped around the witcher's middle, and let it wander lower--mapping the swell of Geralt's abdomen, the roll of his muscles. He snuck lower still, knowing his fingers would hit a bulge in Geralt's trousers. Witchers could be victims of morning wood just like anybody else, but there was absolutely no doubt he'd wake up with an erection today.

The toy--currently oh-so helpfully pressed against his prostate--would see to that.

When the bard found his target, he palmed it gently. Squeezed.

"Is this how you intend to greet me every morning?" Geralt mumbled, voice sleep-heavy.

"If you'll allow it," he said, smiling into Geralt's hair.

"Hmm."

Geralt rolled onto his back, and Jaskier shifted to give him room, sitting up to look at him, to lean over him. "You're still here," he noted softly.

"I'm still here," Geralt agreed. He threw one arm behind his head to prop himself up better, settling in, getting comfortable. "And you're still real," he said, running the tips of his fingers lightly over Jaskier's chin.

"What else would I be?" Jaskier asked with a gentle laugh.

"A dream." He closed his eyes, as though going back to sleep, letting his hand fall to his chest.

"A good dream?"

Geralt cracked one eye open for a moment. "A _filthy_ dream," he said with a small smirk.

Jaskier twisted his fingers in Geralt's chain, yanked on it lightly. "You've barely had a taste of how filthy I can be."

Geralt _hmm_ ed again.

"What do you say I find us some toasted bread and honey, and call up a morning bath, while you just lie here and feel pleasant?"

"Hmm."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Jaskier turned to jump off the bed, but Geralt swiftly caught him by the wrist.

Thinking it a playful grab, the bard swung back around with a wolfish grin. 

But Geralt's eyes were wide open again, his brow furrowed in seriousness.

"I want to apologize," the witcher said stoically.

"For what?"

"For last night. For the strange things I want. For being so senseless when it comes you."

"You don't have to apologize for any of it," Jaskier said ardently, settling in next to Geralt once more, sitting up tall beside him. "You _told_ me what you wanted. You _trusted_ me enough to talk to me. And... You still don't understand, do you? I _like it_ when you're senseless." Jaskier ran his fingers down Geralt's chest. "I _like_ driving you insane."

"Well that much is obvious," Geralt scoffed.

"No, no, Geralt, listen to me." Jaskier licked his lips. Everything about their relationship was so tantalizing, and delicious, and an absolute fantasy come to life, and Geralt had to truly understand how much it affected Jaskier. "You are so calculated with everyone else. Restrained. But not with me. You _lose it_ with me. I stoke fires in you that no one else can. The man who wants nothing becomes possessive, the man who can always control himself becomes a savage beast, the man built to kill can't help but soften and supplicate _to me_. _I_ did that. I _do_ that."

Jaskier rose up on his knees, threw one leg over Geralt's torso to sit astride his abs.

The witcher watched him with a growing hunger in his eyes.

Jaskier snatched Geralt's free wrist and held it up beside his head, leaning firmly over him--mirroring the way Geralt had pinned him the previous night.

Geralt's hips instinctually canted upwards.

"I make you feel things no one else can," Jaskier said. "Do you know what that does to me? Do you understand how it makes _me_ feel?"

He lowered his lips toward Geralt's, but kept just out of reach, taunting. "I feel _powerful_ when I'm with you, Geralt. In an entirely new way I've never known before. A kind of power I don't even feel when I'm on stage, with _everyone's eyes on me_. With everyone _adoring_ me, as you put it."

Geralt's mouth opened in invitation as his feet pushed against the bedding, shifting his hips. He was clearly enjoying Jaskier's sudden display of dominance. 

"You _give_ your power _to me_ ," Jaskier said. "You relinquish it. You trust me with it. Gods, it's the _sexiest_ fucking--" 

Jaskier cut himself off, unable to keep himself away from Geralt any longer. He dropped into a kiss. A deep, commanding kiss.

His cock started to swell between his legs, and he ground himself against Geralt's stomach.

"How could I ever leave this behind?" Jaskier whispered as he pulled away, a pained edge creeping into his voice. "How could I ever give this up? I want you. So much."

"Then you should have me," Geralt purred. "Ask."

Jaskier clenched his teeth. He was stiff from sleep, and still a bit achy from all their rough-and-tumble with the potion. But, gods, he _wanted_ him. He did. "I can wait, Geralt," he insisted. "I _can_. I can wait."

"Jaskier, you've been waiting nigh on a decade and a half. I think you've waited long enough."

"It's not about me. I mean, it's about what I can _give_ to you. I want to make your first perfect _. For you_. How often do you get nice things? When was the last time someone took care of you, thought about what you wanted, how you felt?"

Geralt swallowed harshly, holding Jaskier's gaze. "You," he said, voice strained, thick with emotion. "You were the last time. You've been...you've been all the times since we’ve met. You might be an arse when your feet hurt or you're hungry, but... You take care of me whenever we're tucked away. Like this. Safe and alone. At an inn, or at camp. Even this morning--you wake me up with a pleasant touch and an offer of bread and honey like it's the most natural thing in the world. My first time... It doesn't have to be perfect, Jaskier. It just has to be with you."

Jaskier swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. His eyes felt hot.

 _It just has to be with you_.

He'd never heard a more beautiful sentence in all his life. And beautiful sentences _were_ his life.

"Can I?" he asked breathlessly, suddenly--overcome not just with the want in his cock, but also the want in his chest.

"Can you what?"

Jaskier searched his eyes, brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. "Will you let me make love to you, Geralt?"

Geralt's eyebrows shifted upwards. He looked suddenly stricken.

"Or it doesn't--It doesn't have to be making love. I'm sorry," Jaskier said quickly, worried it was too much. "It doesn't have to be. If you don't want it that way, it doesn't have to be. I can take you hard. I can take you soft. I can take you however you'd like. But, will you let me? Will you give yourself to me? Now? Can I have you, please? Please, _please please please_. Geralt, _please_ \--"

Geralt caught him around the back of the neck. "Shh. _Shh_ , Jaskier."

For once in his life, Jaskier shushed.

Geralt simply studied his face for a long moment.

Jaskier tried to school his expression into something confident, into something less frantic than he felt.

Then Geralt lifted his head away from the pillow of his arm, kissed his bard.

It was slow, but firm. Deep, but not probing. 

When Geralt dropped back again, he swallowed harshly. With his face flushed and lips wet, he sighed, "Yes, Jaskier. _Yes_."


	25. Chapter 25

They agreed to basic needs, a bath, and then? Back in bed.

"I'll take the massager out for you," Jaskier said, still leaning over Geralt. "So you can see to your morning what-have-you. You should be comfortably stretched by now. Nice and ready for me. Does it still feel good? Most people wouldn't have wanted to wear it this long."

"I'd keep it in for days if I could."

"Mmm, I knew it," Jaskier said, reaching for Geralt's chain again. "It's that _famed_ witcher stamina. We _are_ going to have to keep you full, aren't we? I'm going to have so much fun finding new toys for you."

Geralt rumbled his approval.

Jaskier bade Geralt roll onto his front, to prop himself up on all fours. Then Jaskier gently worked the witcher's trousers down over his backside, revealing the black ties and the polished wood of their toy.

"A lovelier full moon has never graced the Continent," Jaskier teased, planting a firm kiss on Geralt's tailbone.

"Shut up," Geralt grumbled sheepishly.

"No, my dear witcher, I don’t think I will."

He continued to praise him as he unwound the ties, basking in the way Geralt hid his face in the pillows to conceal his slight blush.

When Jaskier tugged at the V of the massager, Geralt hissed and fisted the bedding. Slowly, Jaskier pulled it from the witcher's body, mumbling encouragements, eyes fixed on the way Geralt's greedy hole clamped down around it.

Jaskier went as gradually as he could, making the moment last. He wanted Geralt to really feel the slide, the girth, the firmness. Geralt had let his body relax around the carved wood all night, and now he had to contend once more with the thickest part of _it_ shifting through the tightest parts of _him_.

By the time it was out, Geralt was trembling all over.

Jaskier kissed a set of scars at the top of his thigh, then mouthed at his pink pucker, and dragged his tongue up the base of his spine.

Geralt was warm, and firm in so many ways, and so soft in others, and Jaskier felt like he could sink into him and never come up for air.

Geralt was safety, and excitement, and pleasure, and pain, and adventure and--and _home_.

He meant so much to Jaskier in so many different ways. And if Jaskier could convey even a tenth of that meaning with his touch, he would try.

Carefully, he drew up Geralt's trousers again, covered him over. "Go," he whispered. "I'll get us that bath and some breakfast. And _then_ I'll have you."

#

Good to his word, Jaskier procured bread and honey and hot water. He didn't run into Madame Kowalczyk, but he hoped she'd found last night's patronage...um... _adequate_.

While the bath was being filled, Geralt went off to do his business and check on Roach, which left Jaskier some time to consider exactly how he wanted to begin their sexcapades.

He'd liked how Geralt had responded this morning. How he'd shivered and clutched at the bedding under Jaskier's painstakingly slow ministrations.

He wanted that again.

Geralt, clearly, had other ideas. When he returned, he dove for Jaskier as soon as the door was closed, kissing him wildly, pulling at his clothes, trying to undress his bard as quickly as possible. 

"Mph-- _mmm_ \--Geralt. _Geralt_ ," Jaskier chided, trying to speak through a mouthful of eager witcher, trying control his hands, to still them. "Slow," he bade. "Let's go slow."

"Why?" Geralt asked breathlessly, hands fisted in the front of Jaskier's chemise.

"Because we have all the time in the world," he said with a gentle smile. "Because I want to worship every inch of you, find all of those tender spots that make you moan, make you squirm. 

"With the potion everything was so...urgent. Don't misunderstand--it was _fantastic_ , and I will be wanking over the memory for years to come. And I want your savagery, your desperation. I _do_. But haste isn't the only way to work up an appetite."

Moving deliberately, taking his time, Jaskier plucked at the fabric of Geralt's shirt, encouraged him to pull it off.

Once it was pooled on the floor, Jaskier didn't touch him right away--not his bared skin, at least. Instead, he settled his hands on Geralt's clothed hips, and let his gaze roam Geralt's chest and stomach, alighting everywhere he wanted his fingers to fall. He leaned forward and let his breath ghost across Geralt's skin--raised it into goose flesh, made his nipples tighten into hard peaks.

Geralt's hand slid delicately onto the back of Jaskier's head. The bard could tell the witcher wanted to push him forward, to make him take a nipple into his mouth, but he held himself steady.

"I want to show you just how much you make me _ache_ ," Jaskier whispered. "I want to wind you so _tight_. I want to turn the screws, build the pleasure." He blew a soft trail up Geralt's throat, came up to whisper directly into his ear. "I want us both _so on edge_ that the instant I press my cock inside you, we both come."

Geralt groaned. 

"Will you let me torment you, Geralt? Will you let me take you apart until you're panting-- _begging_?"

He lifted his head, teased his breath across Geralt's lips.

The hand in his hair tightened. Geralt leaned forward, tried to close the gap between their mouths.

Jaskier leaned back ever so slightly, keeping just out of reach.

"I want to make you feel like I did the night before last," Jaskier said softly. "Like you'll die if I don't fuck you."

"I feel like that _right now_ ," Geralt insisted.

"No, you don't." Jaskier smirked. "Not yet."

"How can you tell?"

"Do you want me to touch your cock?" Jaskier asked, tracing the obvious bulge in Geralt's trousers with one finger.

"Yes," Geralt hissed.

"Then you're not there yet," he said smoothly.

Geralt's brows knitted together in confusion. "I don’t understand. Jaskier, I _want_ you--"

"But you don't want to come until I'm inside you, correct?"

"Yes..." Geralt answered cautiously.

"Then believe me--" Jaskier started to undo Geralt's trousers. "You'll understand soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still torturing them. And you. And myself. 
> 
> They're gonna fuck soon, though. They are. I promise.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been a year. Thank you everyone for all of your comments, both here and on the Passiflora story. They have been a bright spot for me!

Jaskier eased Geralt out of his clothes, taking great care with every movement, every light contact of skin on skin. 

Once Geralt was naked, Jaskier circled him. He brushed a gentle kiss behind one ear. He traced the very tips of his fingers along the line of his shoulders, then down the center of his spine, and across the dip just above the swell of his bum. When that elicited a shiver, he smiled to himself and continued circling. 

He grazed the backs of his knuckles down one arm, then came around front and ghosted them from Geralt's sternum to his abs--the touch light enough to be on the verge of ticklish, and Jaskier delighted in the way Geralt's muscles clenched and jumped with the tease.

"I spent half my lifetime waiting for you," Jaskier whispered reverently. "Waiting, but not hoping. I didn't dare hope."

He lifted a hand to Geralt's cheek, enjoying the rough slide of his stubble under his palm.

Jaskier realized there were still things he wanted to say--about how this had all started, about the potion. 

Still things he wanted to apologize for.

"I understand what I put you through, Geralt. With the potion, I mean. I can't say I wish it hadn't happened. I _won't_ say it--since the potion gave me yesterday. Gave me today. Gave me _you_. But there _is_ one thing I would change, if I could."

Geralt took him gently by the wrist, moved Jaskier's hand from his cheek to his lips so that he could mumble softly against it. "What's that?"

"I wish I hadn't been a coward at the start. I wish I'd told you what I wanted, how I felt, before the potion took hold, so that you wouldn't have doubted. So that it wouldn't have wounded you to give in. I'm sorry. I know it was horrifying for you, thinking you'd gotten what you desired, only to hurt me in the process--"

Geralt kissed the pads of his fingers. "It seemed like the fates had sent me exactly what I wanted, but in the most twisted, terrible... It was awful," he conceded. "But I--I wouldn't change it, either. I don’t want to go back, to the way we were before. If I had to go through that to get this--" 

"But you _didn't_ , Geralt. And that was my fault."

"It was nobody's fault," Geralt said firmly.

Warmth curled through Jaskier's chest. "It was nobody's fault," he agreed. "And we're okay."

"I'd say more than okay." Geralt smirked at him. 

Jaskier gave him a delicate kiss, smiling through it. "Get in the tub, witcher. Let me sex you up good and proper."

Geralt rolled his eyes, but did as he was told.

Jaskier remained fully clothed while Geralt tended to his own bathing. The bard gathered their supplies, arranged the bedding. Once Geralt insisted he was clean, Jaskier retrieved the honeysuckle-scented oil along with the vial of white powder, and pulled a small stool out from beneath the vanity where the bathing provisions were set. 

With his knees spread wide to accommodate the curve of the tub, he sat behind Geralt and poured a small amount of the oil onto his fingers. Gently, he started to massage Geralt's shoulders--slicking the oil across the witcher's skin, reveling in the way he felt both soft and hard beneath his fingertips.

Geralt hummed in approval, relaxing back into Jaskier's skilled hands.

This was something Jaskier had done for his witcher on numerous occasions: kneading his sore, tight muscles--usually after a vigorous hunt.

And every time previous, Jaskier had bitten his lip and averted his eyes. Had done his best to keep his touches platonic--to keep his gaze away from the water, away from the tender bits of Geralt that lay just beneath the surface.

But now...

He leaned in close to Geralt's ear. "Touch yourself," he commanded. "Get nice and hard for me."

"Like I'm not already hard for you," Geralt said smugly, raising his knees and spreading his legs--his hand immediately snaking between them.

"Be gentle," Jaskier told him. "Be lazy about it. Don't rush."

Geralt's bicep flexed, and the tendons in his forearm strained as he worked his shaft with his fist.

"Very good," Jaskeir praised. "Now, before I give you my cock, I want one more fantasy." He caressed Geralt's throat--made him tilt his head back further--leaving a glistening trail of honeysuckle oil over his adam's apple. "One more way you imagined you could _make me_ take you."

"Hmm," Geralt said--both a contented hum and a thoughtful pause. "Let me think... A few years back, there was a brothel outside Crow's Perch. Think it's gone now."

"Oh, I remember! When we were in the area, you wouldn't let me so much as peek inside." He gripped Geralt's throat more firmly. "Were you hiding something from me?" he asked coyly.

"No," Geralt said, amused. "I was trying to keep you from getting a pox that would make your balls fall off."

"Ah. Yes, well, thanks for that, I suppose. I very much like my balls exactly as they are." He smoothed his fingers back down to Geralt's shoulders. "But I have to admit, _pox-ridden brothel_ is not the sort of setting I'd imagined for this."

"You were skeptical before, when I started with decoctions and swamp water, but were pleased enough by the end, weren't you?"

"I take your point. Carry on."

"The brothel was unique. It had a building out back. Small shed. With two stalls, and a wall between them. If you didn't want one of the brothel's whores, or only had two ducats, you could pay the madame to rent one of the stalls for an hour, and hope someone rented the other."

"I don't follow," Jaskier admitted, leaning in to rub his hands down the front of Geralt's pectorals.

"In the wall between the stalls--there was a glory hole."

That piqued the bard's interest. " _Was there_ now? And you didn't even think to point it out to me, just dragged me away down the road."

"Oh, I thought of it," Geralt said, turning his head to catch Jaskier's eye. "I definitely thought of it," he purred.

Jaskier's heart leapt. His pulse quickened, dick thickening. "You _were_ hiding something from me."

Geralt gave the slightest of smiles and turned away again, relaxing, eyes falling closed. "I thought about mentioning the glory hole, but kept my mouth shut, yes. Because you'd have jumped at the chance to use it--wouldn't you, _slut?_ "

The way Geralt said _slut_ this time was dark, and rich, and felt like a length of silk dragged between Jaskier's legs.

"Yes," he said breathlessly. 

Geralt _hmm_ ed contentedly. "And if you'd decided to use it..." he trailed off.

"Yes? What?" Jaskier knew a dramatic pause for effect when he experienced one. He'd just never expected Geralt to use tricks of the story-teller's trade against him. " _What?_ " he insisted. " _Tell me_. What would you have done?"

"It would have been the perfect opportunity to take what I wanted. With you excited for an anonymous mouth, anonymous pussy. Would have been easy to convince myself I wasn't doing anything wrong, because the whole point of a glory hole is it could be _anyone_ on the other side."

"Fuck, I love the way you think." Jaskier's legs instinctually splayed wider. He drew his crotch closer to the side of the tub, but was unable to press against it, to get any kind of friction on his cock other than the tautness of his trousers. "More--tell me more. I say, 'Geralt, I'm going in,' then what?"

"I tell you I'm not going to wait around, that I'll meet up with you in the evening, in Crow's Perch proper. I'd watch you pay the madame your two ducats and disappear inside. And then I'd tie Roach, grab the cooking oil, and wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For enough time to pass, so you wouldn't suspect. So you wouldn't know it was me when you heard the door to the other stall open. And I'd use the time to prepare. Find someplace to finger myself where I could keep an eye on the shed, make sure no one got to you first." 

Geralt squeezed his dick all the harder, his rhythm momentarily faltering as he sank into his own imagination.

Gods, Jaskier could see it in his mind's-eye--Geralt with his trousers down just far enough to cradle his bum as he worked himself, hidden in the nearby sunflower field.

"Do it now," the bard whispered, feeling sly. "Finger yourself. Need to be good and ready for me."

Geralt groaned and sank further into the water, his free hand darting beneath his balls while his other still maintained a choke-hold on his shaft.

"Don't stop talking," Jaskier insisted, keeping his voice breathy, leaning over Geralt further still, to get a good look at the witcher's hands and to toy delicately with his nipples. "What happens when you pay the madame and go inside?"

"You--you already have your dick out," Geralt sighed. "It's already threaded through the hole. Waiting for a stranger's wet lips, of one kind or another. And I wouldn't be able to control myself, I'd fall to my knees immediately. Would barely think to lock the door behind me. I'd have your cock in my mouth before you could even get out a polite _hello_.

"You've got such a fucking pretty cock," he added. "Every time I see it, even when you're soft, my mouth waters." He groaned, and his arm strained. "Want to pin you down and lick you. Want to tear your trousers open at a banquet and suck you off beneath a fancy table with a horde of vapid nobles none the wiser." Both of his hands moved faster beneath the water. "Want to suck you and then fuck you. Find a wall to press you up against and take--ngh, _Jaskier_..."

Geralt tensed up, flung his hands away from himself.

"Gods, witcher," Jaskier said, moving to nip at Geralt's jawline. "You have such a _mouth_ on you when we get you talking."

Geralt's breath came high and fast. He'd been close to making himself come.

Which was exactly what Jaskier wanted. 

"Don't stop," he said into his ear. "Don't stop, tell me about the glory hole. You've got your mouth on me, and I have no idea it's you. _Don't stop_."


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Detailed talk of non-con fantasies. (I know you all know what you're getting into by now, but I still feel compelled to give you a heads up.)

Geralt was shaking. He pulled his hands out of the water completely, wiped at his mouth, then tried to rest his arms on the tub's lip. But Jaskier squeezed the witcher's biceps, gently nudging them, encouraging Geralt to slip his hands back into the water. "Keep touching yourself," he ordered. "And keep talking."

"Jaskier," Geralt whined--and oh, wasn't it beautiful to hear his usually so-stoic witcher _whine_ \--"I want you. I want you _now_."

"I know, I know," he said, voice one-part soothing softness and one-part heated heaviness. "I want you too. Gods, I want you Geralt."

Jaskier leaned back for only a moment, to roll his sleeves up further, so that when he returned, he could stretch all the way down Geralt's stomach without the fear of damp cuffs. Reaching over Geralt's shoulders, he rested his chin in the crook of Geralt's neck. 

"You wanted exquisite torment," he reminded the witcher, nails scraping over his abdomen, sharp and needy, "And you will have it. I'm not going to take you until we're both wild. Until I can't stand it anymore. Until not having you hurts so much that I can't physically keep myself from you."

Geralt rumbled his approval, hand covering one of Jaskier's to guide his touches, to lead his fingers town to the witcher's pelvis, to the base of his straining cock.

"You know, it's a shame about the brothel," Jaskier said into Geralt's shoulder. "Because when we were there, I was quite looking forward to suggesting we _share_."

He encircled the base of Geralt's shaft with his fist, but did nothing more than squeeze. Geralt let out a shuddering breath in response--his fingers still folded over Jaskier's.

"If we'd shared a woman," Jaskier went on, "I could have openly watched you. Could have admired your _bum_ and your _dick_ and your _shoulders_ and your _stomach_ and your _scars_ without you really noticing."

Geralt's cock gave a heavy jerk in Jaskier's hand. 

"And then," the bard continued, "When it was my turn to fuck her, I'd have gazed straight into your eyes as I sank into her pussy."

"You'd never have been so bold," Geralt rumbled, amused.

"Hush now, is this a fantasy, or isn't it? I'd have stared right at you while I sought my pleasure, imagining it was you, hot and wet on my cock. I'd have imagined it was the White Wolf whimpering for more, for me to fuck you harder. And you will, now, won't you?" Jaskier scraped his teeth along the tendons of Geralt's neck and shoulder. "You're already so hungry for me. You're going to be a greedy bottom, aren't you? Going to need pounded long and hard while your dick leaks all over your belly, all over the sheets."

Geralt whined again in response--a tight sound in the back of his throat. 

An impressive spurt of precome blossomed in the water.

"Don't stop," Jaskier bade again. "I want more of your glory hole fantasy. Here, I'll help: since we _couldn't_ use the brothel, and we _didn't_ share a whore, it's _that_ imaginary image--of you begging for more of my cock--that'd I take with me into that stall. It's all I'd think about as I stroked myself and slipped through the hole in the wall. All I'd think about as I braced myself for a stranger to use my cock however they pleased. So, when the door opens, and heavy boots stomp across the planks, followed by the sound of knees hitting the floor, all I can think about is, what if it was _you_ on the other side?"

Geralt made a little choked sound, and Jaskier smiled to himself, pleased with the way Geralt's chest was heaving, the way his dick throbbed, the way a sheen of sweat--which had nothing to do with the temperature of the water--started to coat the witcher's exposed chest.

"And then warm lips wrap around my cockhead, sucking the precome from my already dribbling prick, and you...?"

"I hold your prick on my tongue, just tasting you," Geralt said swiftly, eagerly. "Content you don't know it's me. The _fact_ that you don't know making me hard. I wait for you to make that sound I like. And when you do, I swallow your whole cock down."

"Which sound?"

"That little _ngh_ chirrup."

Jaskier blushed--heat rising in his cheeks and neck. He hadn't anticipated Geralt could mimic the sound so well. Or that it would go straight to his own cock.

"You fuck forward," Geralt continued, "And I take it. Let you fuck my mouth for a few hurried thrusts, but then I pull away."

"Why?" Jaskier asked, voice high, as though those lips were being denied him at this very moment.

"Because I'm not here to suck you off," Geralt said snidely. "I'm here to make you fuck my arse."

"So wicked and demanding," Jaskier purred into Geralt's ear.

The witcher _hmm_ ed in response, sounding very satisfied with himself. "I'd turn and brace myself on the far wall in the cramped space. Rub my backside against your cock so you'd get the idea. So you'd pull back and I could get positioned properly. I'd undo my trousers and seat my arse against the hole. And you'd fuck into me without a second thought, wouldn't you? You'd fuck whatever was eagerly presented to you. You'd see a warm, slick, willing bottom, and wouldn't care whose it was."

Jaskier let out a small laugh, and immediately bit his lip, abashed. He didn't want Geralt to think he was laughing _at him_ , or at his fantasy.

He'd just had a sudden realization, that was all. 

"Something I say amuse you, bard?" Geralt asked darkly.

"What's amusing, dear witcher, is that you think I wouldn't have known it was you. As though I haven't been familiar with the sight of your lovely bottom for quite some time. As though you don't have a gorgeous little scar right next to your perfect pucker--which I doubt you even know about, so _surprise, my dear_." He put his lips against Geralt's ear, squeezed his shaft with a delicate fist, and delighted in the little shiver that ran up Geralt's spine. "As though one grunt _fucked_ out of you in the heat of the moment wouldn't have been all the confirmation I needed." He teethed at his earlobe. "As though I wouldn't have fucked you all the harder when I realized. I would have fucked you _breathless_ , and come all over your perfect arse, and then afterwards let you believe you'd gotten away with it."

He gave one long, loose-fisted stroke up Geralt's cock.

Panting, Geralt let his head fall back and loll to the side, away from the bard. "Jas-Jaskier, I..."

"I think it's time you got comfortable on the bed," Jaskier whispered, pulling away. "While I take two minutes to wash up."

Geralt nodded eagerly, pushing himself erect on shaky legs.

"Lie on your back," Jaskier instructed, disrobing himself. "And I don't want your hand to leave your cock for even a second."

Geralt dried off, then did as instructed, lying back against the pillows, propping himself up just enough to see Jaskier over the bulk of his own body. His prick was red and rigid in the circle of his hand.

The bard leapt into the bath with minimal sloshing, giving himself a perfunctory once-over with the soap. He wanted to smell nice, to feel clean, but he didn’t need a hardy scrub.

"What if... What if I don't want to get away with it?" Geralt called from the bed. "What if I want you to be angry with me?"

"Oh, you want me to be cross about it?" Jaskier asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Geralt admitted, stroking himself.

"You want me to be upset that you used my dick? That you knew it was me and presumed I didn't know it was you?" He splashed suds off his chest, rinsed his shoulders.

"Yes."

"You want me to come out of the shed and shout at you to come out as well? To let you know I know?"

" _Yes_." Geralt's hand moved all the faster along his shaft.

Jaskier rose from the tub, toweled himself off, grabbed the honeysuckle oil and the powder, then strolled over to the bed. He set the supplies on the nightstand, then placed his hands on his hips, raking his gaze over Geralt's supine form.

Gods, was there a more gorgeous being in all the Continent? He didn't think so.

Here was his witcher, all open and vulnerable and shivering in anticipation. Willing and wanting and oh-so _enticing_. With a look in his eye like a man starved, hungry for anything Jaskier could give him. And Jaskier knew there were no words--no set of syllables he could string together in either poetry or prose--that could do the witcher justice.

It was enough to make a lesser bard weep for wanting.

"You want me to yell at you, scream at you, maybe even try to hit you?" Jaskier prompted once more.

"Yes," Geralt said, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

"I try to punch you," he said lowly, crawling onto the mattress, curling against Geralt's side, leaning up and over him so he could peer down at his face. "But you grab my wrists, overpower me. And then you tell me you're not done with me. You've only gotten half of what you wanted: my cock in you. So now it's time for the other half: your cock in me."

Geralt shuddered, eyes opening to stray to Jaskier's, his skin prickling with delight. "I shove you back into the shed," he growled.

Jaskier smiled slyly, nodded. He held Geralt's stare. He was proud of himself for being able to do this--to _give_ Geralt a fantasy that reflected all the things that excited his witcher, the notions he'd thought he should hide, should be ashamed of. 

"You push me back inside, and follow me in, locking the door behind us," Jaskier purred. "You spin me around, press me against the wall with the glory hole, and rip my trousers down. You angle my crotch _just so_. So that my soft dick still threads through the hole."

Geralt groaned, his hand stilling on his cock. He shut his eyes again, left them closed.

"And you shove yourself inside me," Jaskier whispered, trying to make his voice as decadent and tempting as honey. "You trap me against the wall, hold my wrists above my head. And each time I buck back to try and get away, it only forces your cock further inside me."

Geralt gritted his teeth, fist loosening on his dick, fingers flexing away--almost as though he were afraid to touch it.

"And I can't help but get hard again as you pin me there," Jaskier continued. "And I'm so ashamed. So ashamed because you're forcing me, but I want it. You could have asked for it and I would have given it, but you're just taking me, and I should be angry and disgusted with you. But I'm not and I'm ashamed."

Geralt gasped.

His eyes flew open, and he released his cock completely. In a flash, he was upright, grabbing Jaskier by the back of the head, pulling him into a crushing kiss.

Jaskeir's heart leapt, and he returned as hard and as heated as he received.

"Fuck. Jaskier. Jaskier, I--" Geralt's entire body was taut. His hand clutched at the back of Jaskier's skull with a white-knuckled strain, and he panted like a workhorse.

"Is this good? Is this what you--?"

"So good," Geralt said quickly. " _You_... How can...?" He bit his tongue, tightened his jaw. He seemed to be searching for words. When he couldn't place them, he began searching Jaskier's eyes instead, as though the bard might find the words for him. 

"I _want_ to give you your fantasies, Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly. "I'm not afraid of them." He gently guided his witcher back down to the pillows, following him to mumble against his lips. "If the _thought_ of me ashamed and terrified is thrilling for you, it's thrilling for me. Because I _know_ I'm safe with you Geralt. And you're safe with me.

"So imagine you have me pressed against that wall," Jaskier continued, spreading one hand across Geralt's breastbone, petting through his chest hair. "And I'm half-heartedly telling you to stop, but I know you won't. I know you have me, and there's nothing I can do. And what's worse is I know this won't make me leave you. You could abuse me again and again, but I'm in too deep, too addicted to your presence." He began inching his fingers down Geralt's body, straying down his ribs, down to his stomach--toward his cock. "I won't leave you, even after you've violated me. And that makes me even more ashamed. And I start to cry. I'm hard and I'm scared and you just keep taking what you want."

"Fuck. Jask--" Geralt's voice broke and his abs jumped under Jaskier's hand, but the bard continued to move lower.

"And you fuck me hard, and it's so wrong and so right, and I come again, painting the floor just like I painted your arse."

" _Gods_..."

"We can play it out--this fantasy--any time you want," Jaskier promised. "We'll make our own glory hole if we have to. There are so many things I'll do for you, dear witcher. I'll cower at your feet if you want me too. I'll cry and beg and bleed."

He kissed Geralt again, hard, only pulling away when he felt him getting greedy.

"You can be the Butcher," Jaskier whispered, "And have your way with me in the middle of nowhere, and leave me shivering, bruised and naked, and I'll crawl back to you and plead for you to take me again."

Geralt whimpered as Jaskier kissed him once more.

The bard's fingers traveled lower still, raking into coarse pubic hair, nearly at their target.

"And I'll fill you up whenever you ask," Jaskier said, eyes and hands and voice all heated, "Fuck you when and wherever you need it. You can make me take you after a hunt, you can make me take you while I'm tied up, or pinned down. You can have me however you want me, Geralt. I'm yours for the using."

As Geralt groaned, Jaskier swallowed the sound, kissing him with a fervor. Geralt writhed under him, ran his hands through Jaskier's hair, kept the bard from pulling away again.

And then, finally, Jaskier's fingers found Geralt's cock.

The witcher broke their kiss with a startled huff and grabbed Jaskier's wrist, yanking his hand away.

"Wait. _Wait_. Jaskier, wait--"

"Don't you want me to touch you, dear one?"

"If you touch me, I'll come."

"Don't you want to come?"

"Not yet," Geralt said--breathless, clawing at Jaskier's arm, keeping his hand away from his prick even as the bard tried to go for it again. "Not yet. _If you touch me_ \--"

"You don't want me to touch your cock?"

"No, _please_ ," Geralt beseeched him. " _Don't_."

Jaskier smiled, kissed his sweat-dampened temple. "See? _Now_ you're ready for me."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I ended up leaving bottom!Geralt on the verge of getting fucked in two fics at the same time. That was entirely serendipitous. But I've been promising it far longer in this fic, so I had to let him finally get the D here first.

"How do you want it?" Jaskier asked against the cut of Geralt's cheek bone, dragging his lips lightly over the curve of it. "How do you want me? I can take you from behind, or--"

"I want to see you," Geralt said fervently. He cupped Jaskier's chin, encouraged him to sit up so he could look him in the eye. "I _need_ to see you."

"Do you want it as you are? On your back?"

Geralt nodded. "Take me like this. Just like this."

Jaskier bit his lip. Not to hide his groan--which broke free of his chest regardless--but to hide his tender smile. 

He'd thought, perhaps, that Geralt would demand they fuck like dogs. Or that he'd need to be in control and would want to ride Jaskier's cock. There were at least half a dozen different adventurous and demanding positions Jaskier had anticipated.

But it seemed his witcher was exceedingly fond of missionary. 

It was...sweet.

And Jaskier _longed_ to comment on its sweetness, but found restraint. Geralt was unabashedly wanton right now, and the bard didn't want to make him self-conscious.

"Alright, like this," he agreed, rolling away for only a moment to snatch up the bottles he'd left at the bedside.

When he rolled back, curling against Geralt's side, he uncorked the white powder first, and dipped his pinky inside. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, sliding the digit along Geralt's bottom lip. He followed it immediately with a press of his lips, and Geralt hummed approvingly into his mouth.

The light tingle was teasing. Titillating.

Jaskier tapped a sprinkle of powder onto one of Geralt's nipples, then slid down his body to suck at it, pulling it into a rigid nub with his teeth.

Geralt growled, fingers curling lightly around the back of Jaskier's head.

The bard alternated tugging with his teeth and running the flat of his tongue over the sensitive flesh, until Geralt was arching up into the touch--panting out little gasps every time Jaskier changed his ministrations. After a few minutes, he lavished the same attention on Geralt's other nipple, then left tingling kisses down his sternum.

Sitting up, he settled himself between Geralt's legs, pushing the witcher's thick thighs apart. He wanted to kiss the head of Geralt's cock--to make it buzz with sensation just like his lips and his chest--but Geralt didn't want to be touched there. Not yet.

"Pull your knees up," Jaskier ordered. "I need to slick you."

"With your mouth," Geralt murmured, shifting as directed, moving his legs, hooking his hands around the backs of his knees to keep himself open and presented.

At first, Jaskier wasn't sure he'd heard correctly--too preoccupied, was he, with the scrumptious sight before him. Geralt was a bounty of pleasures, laid out and welcoming, and no one in their right mind could blame the bard for being utterly distracted. 

"What?"

"Before the oil--I want your mouth."

"Of course you do," Jaskier laughed lightly. "Dirty old man."

Geralt growled. "I'm not sure you want to play that game... _boy_."

Jaskier's cock _leapt_ , precome dribbling from his slit.

Oh shit.

Oh _fuck_.

He most definitely _did_ want to play that game. Later--when he was fully healed. When his skin was once more a blank canvas, ready for marking. He could go to his knees, entirely naked, ready for his fully-clothed and commanding witcher. Geralt could to do whatever he wanted while he derided his bard, called him _boy_.

Maybe Geralt could arm himself with a riding crop and--

 _Mmm_ , yes. That would be a good game to play with the Butcher, specifically.

Jaskier smirked to himself, tucking the idea away.

But right now, he didn't want any pretenses between them. With the potion it had been about the magic, and then encouraging the Butcher had been about dispelling Geralt's fears. But this...he wanted it to be just about _them_. Who they really were to each other. What they _meant_ to each other.

So he simply chuckled and asked, "Powder, or no powder?"

"Powder."

Jaskier preened. He was glad his gifts had gone over so well.

He dabbed more onto his lips, crouching down and shuffling back. With a muffled moan of excitement, he pressed his mouth to Geralt's perineum, right behind his balls. 

Geralt's cock jerked upwards, and his hands went white-knuckled against the backs of his knees.

The witcher smelled absolutely heavenly here. Both clean and musky. Jaskier patted himself on the back for how well he'd taken care of Geralt, how he'd been able to give him nice things and slowly work him up. Geralt was already a quivering, needy mess from being teased and opened overnight.

He let his lips trail lower, kissed the furl between his cheeks.

Geralt gasped out something unintelligible, and Jaskier rewarded him by slipping the tip of his tongue into his body. Geralt's muscles trembled all around Jaskier, and the bard petted one flank as he sank his tongue in further, making sure to spit-slick him as much as possible, making sure Geralt _felt_ the wetness.

Jaskier would make sure Geralt was absolutely dripping--first with spit, then with oil, and then...

_Fuck, I get to come inside him. He wants me to come inside him._

Making greedy little moans, Jaskier ate Geralt out with abandon, mouthing at him until he realized his own hands were shaking with anticipation, tremors rocking through his fingers even as he continued to pet calming strokes against Geralt's side.

He needed to get the oil in him. _Now_.

With a gasp, he sat up. Spit covered his chin, and he swiped absently at it with the back of his hand, then fumbled for the vials. He dumped an excessive amount of the honeysuckle scented oil into his palm, then covered the pool of it with the powder.

Hastily, he mixed the two, then swiped the handful of the tingly slickness up his own shaft--curling in on himself as he realized just how on-edge he was, just how ready--before plunging two oiled fingers deep into his witcher.

Geralt hissed through his teeth, legs instinctually falling wider. "Now, Jaskier," he commanded.

"Just a moment," Jaskier breathed, scissoring his fingers. The toy had done an excellent job of loosening his insides, but his rim was still excessively taut around two fingers. Jaskier added a third.

" _Now_ ," Geralt growled.

They were both impatient, wound tight, but Jaskier refused to trip up here, so close to the finish line. They would do this right. He would prepare Geralt correctly. He wouldn't let the witcher's brusqueness get the better of him.

He would not take Geralt too soon.

" _Fuck me_ ," Geralt snarled, one hand leaving his leg as he raised his shoulders from the bedding, reaching for Jaskier, as though to pull the bard forward by the collar of some invisible shirt. Geralt's fingertips ineffectually scratched through the hair on Jaskier's chest before the witcher fell back again.

"Patience, _patience_ ," Jaskier implored. "Almost," he promised. "Almost."

Geralt's chest heaved as he made himself breathe deeply.

Jaskier knew he himself wasn't exactly a portrait of control. His stretching was sloppy, messy. As much oil graced the insides of Geralt's thighs, the underside of his sac, and the furrow of his backside as it did the tightness of his channel.

But that meant nearly everything between Geralt's legs was aflame with a delicious tingling.

Jaksier's cock throbbed in sympathy. The powder was doing its work--felt like feather-light pixie kisses up and down his shaft.

" _Jaskier_ ," Geralt rumbled warningly, as though any moment he might take out his sexual frustrations in an entirely different way if the bard didn't give him what he wanted.

"Alright, alright," he conceded. "Yes, alright."

Geralt spread his legs wider, and Jaskier leaned between them, planting a palm on Geralt's sternum as he guided his cock to nudge at Geralt's entrance. The witcher's eyes were wide, his brows pitched upwards in an expression of dire longing.

"Can I have you?" Jaskier asked one more time. He didn't need a confirmation--there was no doubt Geralt wanted him. But he longed to hear him say it again. To hear his witcher, Geralt of Rivia, say, all broken and eager--

" _Yes_. Yes, Jaskier, take me, _plea--ah_."

Jaskier pressed the tip of his cock past Geralt's rim, interrupting his sweet plea.

Geralt immediately bucked upward, trying to take more of him, to get him to sink in swiftly. 

Jaskier pressed more firmly on his chest, trying to keep him steady. "Relax."

"More," Geralt demanded through gritted teeth. "Jaskier, _more_." His cock flexed between his legs, throbbing and ruddy, and his balls had drawn up tight against its base. He was already so close, and Jaskier knew as soon as his own cock glided across Geralt's prostate, his witcher would spill.

Geralt thrust his hips up again, and Jaskier made a matching retreat, though his cockhead never slipped free. He wanted Geralt to wait, but he couldn't _make_ Geralt do anything--the witcher had to heed him. "Slow. Slow, Geralt. You've never... It'll feel better if you let yourself adjust. Trust me. Trust me--I just want to make it good for you."

"I _want_ \--"

"I know. Trust me."

Some of the tension left Geralt, then. He eased into the bedding, almost in defeat. He let go of his legs, let them slip around Jaskier's waist--not forcing him closer, but holding him in place. "I do," he said softly, yet firmly. "Trust you."

The sudden tenderness clawed at something in Jaskier, and he lifted his hand from Geralt's chest, cupped Geralt's cheek instead, thumb coming to rest against his lips. "Rock with me," he instructed. "Gently. Together."

Geralt nodded his understanding, thrusting his hips up, but with more control this time, less haste and force.

Jaskier let himself slip inside just a little further.

Gradually, they swayed together, and he split Geralt open on his cock. 

The witcher was slick, and warm, and accepting. Everything in him drew Jaskier forward, willing him deeper.

Their collective breathing was labored, their heartbeats stuttering as they both used every last ounce of self-control to slowly join their bodies.

Once Jaskier was fully seated inside his witcher, he gave them both a split second to enjoy the stillness, to have one last quiet moment. He wrapped his clean hand around Geralt's thigh, poised to use the grip for leverage.

He glanced at Geralt's cock, noting how rigid it was, how full, how red and ready, veins pulsing. 

Then he caught Geralt's gaze, held it.

"Come for me, wolf," he whispered.

The bard yanked his hips back, then thrust forward again harshly, gliding deep.

Geralt's legs locked tightly around his hips--heels digging into Jaskier's bum--and he threw his head back, roaring.

Jaskier grabbed Geralt's cock with his still-slicked hand, stroking it with long, firm slides as Geralt came. 

Liquid fire pulsed over Jaskier's knuckles, shot up Geralt's abs, coated his stomach. Geralt's hands flew above his head and scrabbled at the headboard, looking for something to hold onto, some way to ground himself, and Jaskier knew that feeling well: there was so much pent-up ecstasy surging through Geralt, he felt like the was sliding off the edge of the world.

Jaskier wanted to keep thrusting through Geralt's orgasm, but found he couldn't. If he did, he'd come as well, and he'd waited too long for this to let it all end so soon.

The sex potion had granted him witcher-like stamina, but now he was on his own. If he wanted to keep Geralt satisfied, he would have to learn what it truly meant to delay his own pleasure.

As Geralt rocked beneath him, Jaskier let go of the witcher's leg and clawed at his own sac, gripping his balls, twisting them to stave off his peak.

Both men trembled, shivered. 

Geralt slowly came back to himself. " _Fuck_ ," he cried, slapping the headboard, pushing against it to spear himself more firmly on Jaskier's dick.

"Good?" Jaskier asked, cheeky.

"More," Geralt barked. "Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it, bard."

Jaskier set his jaw.

That sounded like a challenge.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Use of the 'c' word. (The word hits in the US just a bit differently than it does in the UK and elsewhere, so thought I might as well give a heads up.)

Jaskier began slowly, rolling his pelvis in small, tight thrusts. He gripped Geralt's hips with force--firm enough to bruise on anyone other than a witcher--and leaned forward over him. Geralt kept his legs curled around Jaskier's waist, and continued to use the headboard for leverage, pushing himself harshly onto Jaskier's cock, meeting him jab for jab.

"Harder," Geralt demanded.

Jaskier snapped his hips forward.

"Harder," Geralt barked.

Jaskier fucked forward again, pounding into Geralt.

" _Harder_ ," the witcher bayed.

"Fuck!" Jaskier shouted, doing his best to comply. 

Despite his orgasm, Geralt's cock was still as rigid as his steel sword, and every violent thrust from Jaskier forced another thick droplet of white from its tip.

"Come on, bard, fuck me," Geralt taunted. "I'm a witcher, not some dainty cunt."

"No, if there's something to be said about your cunt, it certainly isn't _dainty_ ," Jaskier shot back.

An affronted snarl passed over Geralt's face. He seethed like he did when they genuinely fought and insulted each other. With a growl, he surged upwards, reaching out to snatch Jaskier by the back of the head and pull him down into biting kiss.

His lips were greedy, and he rumbled into Jaskier's mouth, "Fuck. Me."

Jaskier understood. Geralt was daring him to fuck like they were fighting. Not real fighting--play fighting. Just another game. Like this was a sparring match. Like it was a battle to be won or lost, with the stakes nothing but pleasure and taunting rights.

As if Jaskier could be on the losing side of _anything_ with Geralt impaled on his dick.

The witcher kept kissing him, didn't let his mouth go for more than a moment at time, and only then so he could goad him.

"You wanted my arse, so _take_ it."

Jaskier's sweaty palms slipped on Geralt's sweaty hips, and the bard scrabbled to find new purchase.

"Gods, you're insatiable," Jaskier gasped out when Geralt let him.

"And you fill me up so good," Geralt rumbled--tone still fierce, still haughty.

Jaskier had to suck in a sharp breath--had to bite his lip _hard_ , and tighten everything in his lower belly, to keep from coming. " _Fuck_."

Geralt bucked upwards, then angled his pelvis down, clearly looking for a slant of his hips that would make Jaskier punish his prostate with every slide.

Beads of sweat ran down Jaskier's spine as he held his grueling pace. Long minutes passed, and Geralt's taunts and demands turned into murmurs and sighs. The witcher closed his eyes, gritted his teeth--found the headboard again with both hands. His features were tight, brow furrowed. Anyone who didn't know any better might have thought he was in pain. But Jaskier knew what _overwhelming bliss_ looked like on Geralt's face.

The witcher's entireties of _more, more, more_ eventually started to sound like something else entirely. Words Jaskier couldn't quite make out. "Geralt?"

He continued to mumble.

Jaskier risked easing off on his speed and force. Geralt didn't protest. "Geralt, what is it?"

"Tell..." the witcher groaned.

"What?"

" _Tell me_." His eyes flew open, his gaze darting across Jaskier's face in a desperate frenzy, looking for something. One hand came up to clutch around the nape of his bard's neck.

They stared into each other's eyes. Jaskier's thrusts became languid. "Tell you what?" he asked softly, voice sounding fragile in his own ears.

"Tell me," Geralt demanded. His eyebrows bowed with a melancholy sort of hunger, and for a moment Jaskier was worried that was all he'd get--all the words Geralt could find. But then the witcher licked his lips, tried again. "Say it. Say it, _please_. Tell me...how you..."

"What, Geralt?" He would give it to him, whatever it was. He would give him the world, the moon, the stars. He would give him a life on the road or a house on the coast or a fucking _palace_ if he could get his hands on one. He would give him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed.

"Tell me you love me," Geralt pleaded.

Jaskier's chest swelled, his breath caught. 

Geralt begging to hear him say it was so much more intimate, so much more loving, than if he'd said those three words himself.

"I do," Jaskier said earnestly, voice shaking. "I do. _I do_. Gods help me, I love you. I'm _so, so in love_ with you, Geralt."

Geralt closed his eyes. His lip trembled.

Jaskier shifted his hips, searching, searching for--

Geralt's back bowed gently off the mattress as Jaskier's cock slid over his prostate just right. His lips parted, a small gasp leaving him, and his eyelashes glistened against his cheeks, dampened with the slightest tears.

Gods, he was beautiful. So fucking beautiful. 

It hurt, how beautiful he was.

Geralt had wanted him to ache for him, and now Jaskier thought he would never stop aching. He could never be close enough to him, could never have him enough.

It was unfair. So unfair to have everything he wanted and still be so hungry. 

It had been the same the night before last, with Geralt inside him. 

Would it be like this, always?

Fuck, he hoped so.

He never wanted to be sated. Never wanted this neediness to stop. 

"I love you, and I want to give you everything," he said softly. "I don't have much, Geralt, but all of it is yours. Everything I am is yours, has been for a long time. You must know that. Please, know that."

Geralt nodded, his eyes still shut, clearly lost in sensation, lost in Jaskier's affections. 

Jaskier lowered his forehead to Geralt's chest, his thrusts still long and fluid--Geralt's hand never left the back of his neck.

Gods, he loved his witcher so much. It was more intense, now, even, than when he'd been hiding it. Somehow, being able to admit to it, to have Geralt share in it, had made it burgeon and grow.

And it made something in the depths of his soul hurt like fucking _hell_.

But that was how he knew it was real. How he knew his love for Geralt was different, and deeper, than any other love he'd ever felt. 

He used to think reciprocated love couldn't hurt. That it was the opposite of hurting in every way.

But this was a happiness so intense it doubled back on itself. It was a happiness you could never be full of, could never get enough of. The more you had of it the more you wanted it. The closer you came to bliss, the more bliss you yearned for.

It was a thorough, all-consuming, euphoric _ache_.

"It hurts," he gasped, hot breath rolling out across Geralt's chest. "I love you, and it hurts me."

Geralt groaned.

Jaskier looked up to find his witcher staring at him, expression open and full of veneration.

"Good hurt?" Geralt asked carefully, hopefully.

"Only good hurt," Jaskier reassured him. He let his stomach fall to Geralt's, pressing their torsos together, trapping Geralt's blood-hot cock between them. "The best kind of hurt," he said, cradling Geralt's head in both hands before kissing him softly, lips lightly tugging at one another's.

It was a long moment before Jaskier realized he'd stopped thrusting. That they were simply laying together, entwined.

"More?" he suggested lightly.

"More," Geralt agreed, giving Jaskier a small, affectionate smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd allow Jaskier to be at least a little bit melodramatic about the whole thing. He's earned it.


	30. Chapter 30

Jaskier fucked Geralt for a while longer in slow, sweet missionary. Occasionally, they kissed gently, lips barely brushing. Every touch was delicate and gossamer-light, as though they both thought the other fragile. Geralt's hands moved gingerly over Jaskier's back, his face, through his hair, memorizing Jaskier's body with his fingertips--mapping him in a way he'd never been allowed to before.

The bard worked the witcher over, long and deep. He brought Geralt's pleasure to a peak once more, making him spill with a soft sigh between them.

"Gorgeous," Jaskier said, smoothing damp hair away from Geralt's brow, glancing down at the twitching cock between their bellies--at the pool of come gathering in Geralt's navel--before looking into his witcher's eyes again. "Absolutely stunning."

Geralt demurred as he eased down from his orgasm, glancing away.

Jaskier gritted his teeth, growling at himself, but not in a harsh way--a little, longing whimper carried through its undertones. "Gah, it is so _hard_ not to shower you with sweet-nothings," he said. "You deserve so much praise. Any tributes I can give you."

"Give me more of your cock, that's tribute enough."

"I want you to know how much I admire you, how much I--oh."

"Oh, what?"

"I just thought of something. I...I want to watch you."

"You _are_ watching me."

"I want to see you bounce on my cock. I want to watch you learn your body, learn how you like it. You keep teasing me with stories about _taking_ your pleasure. I want to watch you use me."

"You want me to ride you?"

"Will you?"

Geralt's lips pursed, twisted--like he was thinking it over. He let out a heavy huff of air, as though put-upon. "I don't know, sounds like a lot of work." He stretched his arms above his head, bowed his back like a cat. "Rather like just laying here, getting dicked within an inch of my life. Only wish I'd thought to bring the food within reach. Then you could feed me while you fuck me."

"Oh, you dramatic, lazy bastard," Jaskier laughed.

He gave Geralt a particularly pointed thrust, and the witcher's breath caught, the faux-uncertainty--the underlying cockiness--sliding off his face, replaced by pure pleasure.

"That is a thought, though," Jaskier said. "Maybe one day, after a particularly brutal hunt, I can fuck you while you just lay there, on your stomach. I can massage your aching shoulders and sore back while I fill you up--can take you gently while you cat-nap." He kissed Geralt's chin. "I'll give you as much sluggish, idle enjoyment as you can handle."

"Hmm," Geralt replied, similarly enamored of the idea.

"But...you don't have to ride my cock right now, if you don't want to," Jaskier reassured him. "It was just a thought."

Geralt frowned at him, then planted a hand in the middle of his chest and swiftly shoved him away.

Jaskier squeaked as he fumbled backwards, cock slipping free.

The witcher flipped their positions in an instant, forcing Jaskier to lie on his back before crawling up the bard's body to straddle his pelvis. "What my bard wants, my bard gets," he rumbled, sitting up straight, reaching back to fist Jaskier's cock, holding it steady at his entrance.

"That is not even _remotely_ your usual policy," Jaskier laughed, breathless.

"You get special privileges when your dick is up my arse."

"Oh, _well then_. Don't think I'm not tucking that little tidbit away. I'm definitely holding you to it from now on--if my cock is in you, I get whatever I want."

He let his hands wander up Geralt's torso, swiping his fingers across his abs, his lower belly--smearing Geralt's come into his own skin. Palming the remainder, he encircled Geralt's prick in his wet fist, stroking his long, luscious shaft. Geralt purred deep in his chest.

Gods, how could he still be so hard after two orgasms? Witcher stamina was certainly a gift that kept on giving. Well, either that or an absolute curse which would have Jaskier's poor prick worn down to a nub when all was said and done.

He could see it going either way, really.

Carefully, Geralt sank down onto Jaskier's shaft. His thighs trembled as he went, and he squeezed his eyes closed.

Jaskier bit his lip, groaning--at the tightness, the hot depth, and the beautiful sight before him.

When Geralt's arse was flush with Jaskier's hips, the witcher cracked one eye open. "How shall I--?"

"However you like," Jaskier said quickly, giving Geralt' cock another long tug before moving his hands to Geralt's thighs. "I want to watch you discover what pleases you."

Closing his eyes again, clearly concentrating on the new sensations created by the new angle, Geralt ground down, rocking in small circles. The muscles of his abdomen clenched deliciously, his hands coming down to brace against Jaskier's belly--

And Jaskier had to, once more, put every last ounce of effort into _not coming_.

He could feel his orgasm rising, surging, his balls drawing tight. He clawed desperately at the tops of Geralt's legs, and took long, gasping breaths through his mouth. "Wait, _wait_ \--" he pleaded, licking his lips, wincing with the strain of holding himself back.

"Close?" Geralt asked with a smirk, suddenly going perfectly still.

"Some _miscreant_ insisted on edging me for the last twenty-four hours, so yes, _Geralt_ , I'm close. Been close since the moment I fucked into you."

Slowly, his near-climax receded, the immediacy of it draining away. It was like taking a step back from the edge of a very tall cliff, and his heart still beat wildly.

His hands shook, and he realized he'd dug deep half-moon's into Geralt's legs. The witcher didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the furious scrabbling.

Jaskier was going to die--witcher stamina was going to kill him, he was sure.

"Okay. Alright. I--I'm ready," he insisted with a nod.

Geralt pushed himself upward, slowly, sliding along Jaskier's shaft until only the tip remained inside him. Then he descended quickly, dropping himself down with force.

Jaskier made a sound like he'd been punched in the gut. He _felt_ like he'd been punched in the gut. In the very best, most _blissful_ way.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" Geralt asked. "Me using you? If you're still sore from--"

Jaskier clenched his teeth, determined. "Come on, witcher," he urged, "Take what you want."

Geralt hmmed his consent, then lifted himself up once more.

He started slow, working his way up in both speed and force. His rhythmic undulation was perfectly controlled. He had such a firm command over his body, his movements--knew exactly where every bit of himself existed in time and space. Jaskier had never met anyone else who possessed both a dancer's poise and a warrior's bodily determination.

Geralt's strength and precision were both on full display.

Jaskier was so enamored, so aroused, so impossibly in love with every little move Geralt made--the bard was so filled with veneration that he didn’t know what to do with himself. Could only lie back in wonderment while he watched and felt Geralt take his pleasure.

It was like making love to a god.

Geralt leaned forward, but then swiftly changed his mind and leaned back, bracing his hands on Jaskier's shins.

He gasped, tossing his head back, baring his throat.

There it was.

The angle he liked best.

It made his ruddy cock jut forward, hovering over Jaskier. With each bounce, a small drop of precum flung from the tip, splattering here and there across Jaskier's abdomen.

He rolled his hips fast, hard, _tight_.

And it was the best kind of murder on Jaskier's cock.

"Fuck. _Fuck_. Geralt. _Geralt_. I--I can't. I'm not going to last much-- I--"

"Come in me," Geralt ordered, "Come inside me."

Jaskier made a pained moan. "Not yet. You first. I want to see you. Feel you." 

" _I_ want you to fill me up," Geralt growled in return. "I want to spill on you while I'm filled with your spend."

"Ah, _fu--_ " Jaskier groaned, long and deep and incoherent. 

"Come on, Jaskier," Geralt panted. "You wanted me to figure out what I like best. I think I'll like getting bred the best."

"Fuck. _Geralt_."

"Gonna give me what I want?" His downward thrusts became pointed, and torturously good.

"I thought...you said...I'm...the one who...gets what...he wants...when my dick's up your arse," Jaskier gritted out.

"You don't want to come? _Hot_. _Hard_. Inside me?"

"Geralt--you're playing with fire," Jaskier gasped. "I really can't last."

"Don't want you to last," Geralt rumbled. "Want you to come." He dropped forward, put his hand over Jaskier's throat, squeezing. The hold was firm, solid, but didn't constrict his air.

It was exactly the same way he'd gripped Jaskier's throat two days ago, when they'd first lain together, shirtless, on the bedroll. When the potion had started to steal Jaskier's control.

Jaskier slid his hand over the top of Geralt's, pressed. "Harder."

Smirking, Geralt increased the pressure. "Come for me," he ordered, echoing Jaskier's earlier command.

With that, Jaskier let himself fall. Let the tension in his _shoulders_ and _pelvis_ and _hands_ and _stomach_ release. He let himself simply _feel,_ thinking of nothing except the slick, warm, wonderous slide of Geralt on his cock, and the strong, safe grasp of Geralt's hand on his neck.

He shouted and bucked, but Geralt's heavy body kept his hips pinned. His sac drew tight and everything between his legs thrummed with ecstasy. It was dizzying, and he lost his breath. Pleasure so overwhelmed him that the edges of his vision dappled, and if he'd had any thoughts in his head, he might have been afraid of passing out.

Warm come erupted from his cock, deep into Geralt, and the witcher moaned. He continued to ride his bard while Jaskier came, his pace ever-steady. 

Moments later, Geralt's own orgasm overtook him, and before Jaskier had even started to come down from his blissful high, he felt a slick splatter over his chest. He had just enough presence of mind to keep his eyes open, to watch Geralt's beautifully jutting cock spill onto him, shooting far.

"Fuu _uuuu_ ck," Jaskier cried, having lost all ability to articulate just how utterly sensational the sight was.

And still, even spent once again, Geralt did not stop his thrusting.

Jaskier's cock twitched--valiantly trying to keep up, but rapidly becoming over sensitized. "It's too much," he gasped, weakly pawing at Geralt's leg. "Geralt, I'm--"

"One more. One more, Jas, _please_."

"One more," he agreed. He wasn't surprised Geralt had a fourth orgasm waiting in the wings. And he would _not_ leave his witcher dissatisfied, no sir. "In my mouth," he pleaded. "Come up here. Come in my mouth. Let me suck you off."

Geralt whined, hips slowing. "But your cock feels so good."

"I know, I know. You can have it again soon, I promise."

With clear reluctance, Geralt pulled off Jaskier's cock, then shifted up his body. He curled over the top of Jaskier's head, sliding his hand under his hair, lifting him so he could easily mouth at the still-dribbling cock.

Jaskier let his tonguing be lazy, wanting to prolong Geralt's pleasure.

Geralt moved his hips ever-so-slightly, thrusting shallowly as first. But then a long keening started in the back of his throat.

Jaskier knew what that meant. Geralt wanted more, but was holding himself back. 

So Jaskier closed his lips around Geralt's cock head and bobbed, encouraging him forward with his hands on the witcher's bum. He let his fingers stray between the cleft of Geralt's cheeks, found him clenching tight to keep Jaskier's spend inside him. Jaskier let out a muffled moan, and pressed delicately at Geralt's furled entrance.

That was all it took.

Geralt came again with a bellow. Jaskier swallowed easily--Geralt's orgasm was nearly dry.

Breathing heavily, Geralt flopped over onto his back.

They were both quiet, basking, sated, for a long few moments.

Still feeling half-way out of breath, Jaskier eventually asked, "Geralt?"

"Hmm?"

"Might I say one sweet thing to you?"

The corner of Geralt's mouth quirked upwards. "What?"

"I love you. I adore you, and I can't believe I ever lived in a world where I couldn't just _tell_ you. I love you. _I love you_. And when you _asked me_ to tell you that I love you, I fell in love with you just a little bit more."

Geralt, for all his paleness and witcher-slow heart, distinctly blushed. "That's enough, bard."

"One more: I love you."

" _Jaskier_."

"That's it. That's it, I swear. I'll keep my romantic trap shut now." 

He rolled up on his side to face Geralt, trailing his fingers through his chest hair. "Oh, and I just remembered. One more thing, Geralt."

"What?"

"I love you."

Geralt could barely suppress his smile. Shaking his head, he growled out, "Why you little--" and rose up for a playful kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I introduce you to: orgasm-chicken. Like edging, only sillier.
> 
> One more chapter left!


	31. Chapter 31

They were one witcher-orgasm into round two when a heavy knock startled them both.

Jaskier had Geralt bent over the side of the bed, with one of Geralt's legs pulled up on the mattress to let Jaskier easily slide in and out of his already thoroughly-wrecked hole. Geralt's head was pillowed on his folded arms, and Jaskier gripped Geralt's hip with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, gently pushing down.

And a deep, constant _purr_ emanated from Geralt's chest.

Jaskier had just realized there was nothing in the world more beautiful than a contented witcher when a _thwack-thwack_ rattled the door.

Jaskier cut himself off mid-moan, and Geralt stiffened under him--arms flexing the way they often did when he was about to reach back and draw a sword.

They both held perfectly still.

"You boys alright in there?" Madame Kowalczyk called.

"Fi-fine," Jaskier replied before clearing his throat. "More than fine, really. Thank you _so much_ for checking."

"Just thought I should make sure, seeing as how it's midday and you haven't yet forfeited the room. Does this mean you'll be gracing us with another performance tonight?"

"Was...was last night up to your standards, then?" he asked cautiously. "You approve?"

"Of course I approve. With the number of locals who purchased rooms for the night, the inn has never been so full."

"And neither have its patrons," Geralt muttered under his breath. 

No doubt many people had tumbled into bed--and one another's bodies--with Jaskier's lyrics on their lips.

"I'd say you were a smash hit," Madame Kowalczyk continued. There was something sly in her tone. "So, the room, you'll be keeping it?"

"We'll definitely be needing the bed, so yes," Jaskier replied. Geralt glanced at him over his shoulder and the bard met his gaze with a wink.

"Fine, fine," she said casually. "In that case, if you intend to keep fucking each other's brains out--"

Jaskier's mouth fell open, and he clutched at his chest. "Fu-Fu--? My good lady! Such language!"

"Little Dandelion, people can hear you two out on the street. And everyone saw the witcher whisk ya away to a one-bedded room last night, so don't bother getting all scandalized now. Assuming you intend to keep _raucously gratifying_ one another: will ya be needing yer dinner brought up again?"

Jaskier was dumbfounded.

So Geralt answered for them. "Yes. If you would."

"Good man," she acknowledged, before graciously leaving them to it.

"Funny how there was only one room when we arrived," Geralt mumbled.

"Oh?" Jaskier asked before he'd let go of his shock. "Oh. You mean, since there seems to have been a startling number of vacancies once evening rolled around?"

"Right."

"What are you suggesting?"

Geralt shifted, turning over. Jaskier's cock slid out of him, but he didn't let his bard go far. He reached for Jaskier's hip, bringing their still-hard cocks in line, threading their legs together. "I think she knew," he said.

"Knew we were together, or...?"

No. Surely his sweet old chef hadn't known as soon as he and his companion had walked through the door that they were...?

Even at that, it would have meant she'd kept the cheaper rooms open, made them take the expensive one, so that...so that he'd play for nothing more than room and board, and...

He did his best to bat the notion from his brain. There was no way she could have known the crowd would be that big, or that Jaskier would play boudoir songs, or--?

Unless...?

"I think your madame might have a little gift," Geralt said. "Maybe far-sight."

 _No_ , preposterous.

Jaskier frowned.

"Think about it later," Geralt said, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss. "Fuck me," he growled, bucking his hips up. "I'm so empty."

"What do you need?" Jaskier asked against his lips.

"Just you," Geralt said with a soft smile. "Only you."

#

When Madame Kowalczyk came back--much later--with food, Geralt excused himself to the privy while Jaskier got to the, er, _bottom_ of things, as it were.

"Madame, I do believe you've been holding out on me," he said as the old innkeeper strode into the sitting area with a heavily-laden tray.

She set out two bowls of rich-smelling stew and two ales before tucking the tray under her arm and dusting off her hands. "Whatever do you mean, little Dandelion?" she asked innocently, turning to face him.

"What is it? Divination? Far-sight?"

"Ah." She smiled, shrugged. "Just a bit of kitchen-witchery. Know when I'm about to hit a patch of good luck, is all. Methinks you've hit a patch yerself, eh?" She nodded towards the bed--where the sheets were twisted and the blankets bunched--then winked at him.

" _Madame_."

"I'm old, I aint dead." She patted him on the shoulder. "Your witcher is quite the looker. If I had any talent for song, I'd be singin' about him too."

"I can't guarantee the same type of crowd tonight. You know that, don't you?" he said apologetically. "Geralt did a bit of bewitching of his own, you see, and--"

"Don't you worry about it. We’ve got word of mouth going for us now. You just sing those same songs and bat your eyelashes at him while he washes the dishes, and we'll do alright. In fact..." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you think he could be convinced to do the washin' without his shirt? Getting those forearms of his all soapy seemed to do the trick for some people, so I can't imagine what we'd pull if he was bare-chested."

Jaskier tried to keep his scandalized tone in place, but his next words came out accompanied by more of a giggle than an offended scoff. "My dear, we are not, in fact, sex workers."

"All I'm suggesting is a bit more skin, not that he wave his cock about," she replied, just as amused.

He let himself grin wide. "I'll see what I can do."

"Before I go, how many nights do you think I can keep ya? The pair of you seem the wandering types."

"We are. But I think I can promise you three more nights before he gets too restless and needs to run off and kill something."

She nodded sharply, as though it were a formal agreement. "Three nights it is."

#

"She wants me to _what_?"

"As I told you before, you aren't exactly difficult to look at, and you already get leers. So why not lean into it?"

"Maybe _you_ should lean into it," Geralt grunted. He was on all fours, spine dipping deliciously as the thrust his bum firmly against Jaskier's pelvis.

And _lean into it_ Jaskier did, draping himself over Geralt's back.

Gods, he was going to be absolutely dead on his feet after this. Three more days of nothing but constant, demanding sex and sensual evening performances was going to send him to an early grave.

He couldn't think of a more pleasant way to die.

" _Harder_ , bard," Geralt insisted, voice all gravel.

Jaskier snapped his hips forward. "Is that a yes? You'll do it?"

"Your cock is in my arse, so whatever my bard wants..." he said, cheeky, tossing his head as Jaskier picked up the pace.

Wanting to reward Geralt for his agreeableness, Jaskier tried to focus on pounding into his witcher with all the force he could muster. " _Fuck_ , how am I going to keep up with you?" he lamented. "You are delectably insatiable, but I'm only a man."

"I can think of a few ways."

"Yes?" he gasped. "Please, enlighten me."

"Before we leave town, I want to visit that shop. The one where you found my presents."

"Oh?" 

"I want a toy I can wear while we travel," Geralt confessed between grunts. "As much as I enjoyed the massager, I think it would be rather unforgiving in a saddle."

Jaskier laughed, grinning wide, and gave Geralt a particularly pointed jab--which made the witcher moan. "Fuck, _yes_. I'll get you all the toys you want. I'll keep you so full." He dragged his lips over the top of Geralt's spine. "Oh-ho-ho, I can't _wait_ to spread the tales of Geralt of Rivia: Greedy Bottom and Absolute Cockslut."

Geralt bucked under him--almost like a horse trying to toss its rider. "Fuck off," he grumbled, clearly amused.

Jaskier smirked to himself, reaching for Geralt's cock. "If you insist, dear witcher. If you insist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end. Thank you so much for following me through two whole novellas worth of PWP with these two. 
> 
> You'll notice that there's a third entry in the series already; that's a fan made video I set to That Unwanted Animal by The Amazing Devil, which is sort of suggestive of Geralt and Jaskier's non-con role playing. I still intend to write a third fic in the series, which will kind of be a 5+1 deal showcasing different aspects of their sexual relationship. I probably won't start that until I finish writing Sweat and Sex and Sin: The Passiflora in Bloom, so stay tuned!


End file.
